Been & Going

[California Seething] The Stupid Year’s Over- Here’s a Random List

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Holy shit, you guys- it’s almost 2015- can you believe it? I know I can’t believe it because I keep saying “2005” all the time. But Cal Seething- 122914- y2kthen, I’m hardly reliable when it comes to stuff like this- hell, I still wake up in a cold sweat wondering if my VCR is Y2K compliant. Remember Y2K! Ha! Remember how we were so incredibly freaked out and worried that something TERRIBLE AND APOCALYPTIC was gonna happen on January 1st 2000 and then the following September it totally did. Yeah. Good times. If we’d cared just half as much about tracking the terrorists enrolled in our flight schools as we did about making sure that we’d still be able to watch our old Animaniacs tapes in the new millennium then we might have been spared all that bloodshed and anguish and schmaltzy halftime spectacles where soldiers are brought out to surprise their tearful family on the field. I’m amazed they still find families who fall for the whole “surprise reunion” gag, but then I’m amazed anyone still joins the Army in the first place. Don’t get me wrong- I support the troops- hell, someone has to protect the cherished freedoms that we tortured so many people for- but I think we all know that being a soldier these days is an incredibly shitty job. Hell, isn’t that why we have to be so fucking grateful all the time? It’s not even like they get to go somewhere cool- there’s a reason nobody sings “How you gonna keep em down on the farmCal Seething- 122914- soldier after the’ve seen Fallujah?” And think of the miserable shit they have do over there- hell, if they were sipping Earl Grey and getting handjobs from doe eyed British nurses all day, we wouldn’t have to throw them parades, and let them go ahead of us in line when we’re boarding a plane. and clap when they walk into bars and all the other shit they do in Budweiser commercials to show their love for the poor sons of bitches who got their legs blown off as a thank you note for spreading the gift of democracy. A gift which the US has dispensed over the past decade like so many Christmas fruitcakes around the world- unwanted, hard to make and impossible to swallow.

So, right, anyhow- like I was saying- it’s almost 2015- which means it’s time for everybody to engage in their favorite meaningless end of the year rituals- hurray! For most, that means drinking til you puke and emptying your FSA account (Who wants Abilify?? I’m makin’ it rain at CVS, mothafuckaz. Keepin’ it real in Fiscal 15!). For me, though, as a semi-professional, totally unpaid and largely irrelevant blogger- it means putting together an arbitrary and totally random top 10 list. So- here you have it- since I’m not really sure I’ve seen 10 new tv series or 10 movies and I sure as hell haven’t bought 10 new albums- I decided to do the Top 10 Things I’m Seething Over in 2014.

#1. SONY Deciding to show The Interview after all

If there’s one thing that really gets my goat it’s a Chupacabra. Poor little Billy. He never stood a chance. But that’s a whole other story.

Anyhow, if there’s something else that really pisses me off it’s when I get myself whipped up into a rich, frothy, delicious foam of righteous indignant fury only to get exactly what I want before I have a chance to spew my hot, sweet rage all over the place (does anyone else want hot chocolate? Hot chocolate? Hot chocolate? Just me?) It’s absolutely one of the worst things that Cal-Seething--122914--punkycan happen- and I’m not alone in thinking so. White People Problems magazine has it as as #2 on their Top 10 of 2014. #3 is buying the absolute perfect Halloween dress for your newly adopted darling little Maltipoo only to find out it’s a size too small and the bastards at Petco won’t take it back cause they say she stretched it out and now I have to sue those motherfuckers because she has body image issues and her vet therapy bills aren’t covered by Bobamacare. And #1 is picking  up your precious little Maltipoo’s precious little poo in a  plastic bag in a park in San Francisco and trying to figure out which can to put it in. Cal-Seething--122914--trashIs it compost, cause- poop? Recycling cause- plastic? Or landfill cause- fuck it? Would it kill them to put a picture of dogshit on one of the cans? Cause what the fuck else are people throwing out in the park??? I mean thank god they have that picture of the broken Cal-Seething--122914--landfsaucer cause if the homeless-by-choice trustafrians and me decide to have a tea party with the crazy bitch yelling about Jesus and the phone company, and one of us breaks a piece of priceless delft china at least we’ll know which fucking trash can to put it in (Landfill. Fucked up right? They can’t recycle that Shit? No wonder the polar bears are dying.)

Yeah- so just imagine how frustrating it would be for me if just as I was getting ready to rant about the stupid trash cans some little Oompa Loompa came out with a paintbrush and added a picture of dogshit while singing rhymed cuplets (“what if you throw your recycling in trash?/the homeless will take it and trade it for cash”) and totally took away what I was pissed off about? That would suck , right? Well- it’s the same thing with this SONY crap.

Here I was brewing up a nice hot, dark, sweet, rich and creamy rant (Seriously- nobody wants hot chocolate?) about SONY’s pathetic cowardice and how we should screen the movie on the National Mall and show those North Koreans that the eagle isn’t Cal Seething- 122914- washingtonour national bird- the Washington Monument is- and we’re flipping it right in Kim Jong Un’s gouty little fucking face- and then- what does SONY do? They back down from their backing down and decide to show the damn movie after all- provided Obama cancels North Korea’s AOL account. (It’s about fucking time if you ask me- they’ve been stockpiling those Free 1000 Hour CD ROM’s over there since 95.) And there I am, with my proverbial dick in my proverbial hand all pissed off cause I’ve got nothing to be pissed off about. Man, that pisses me off! I mean, really I should be grateful to SONY since now that the movie’s been released I don’t have to see it- cause the only thing more American than having freedom is being too lazy to take advantage of it (this is also the slogan of the GOP’s new Koch the Vote campaign- a huge success in the midterms.) But instead all I feel is outrage. You know what I mean? Oh yeah you do- cause this is 20-fucking-14 and if you’re not pissed off about something- you’re not alive. Which brings me to my second thing:

#2. Pointless Outrage

When I was 19 and used to attend Indigo Girls concerts, I participated in a Women Take Back the Night march. To be clear, I RAY SALIERSdidn’t actually march since, being a man, I already had the night and it would have been gauche to try and also take it back. You don’t win Final Jeopardy and also ask for the home game. I stayed back with the other sensitive men and beleaguered boyfriends in a support circle. The idea was that we would talk earnestly about womyn’s issues while they were marching and then greet them with lit candles when they returned in a show of solidarity. It was a lovely notion, but unfortunately it was a windy night and the candles kept going out and as a result when the womyn returned they were greeted by a bunch of dudes with wax phalluses. But anyhow- while we were engaged in our earnest chat, one of us, a square headed meat log with Greek on his sweatshirt and Long Island in his voice shared an “aha!” moment that he had. While he was in his dorm room, someone came by selling “slap a JAP” (Jewish American Princess) t-shirts- and even though all his suitemates laughed and thought it was funny, he realized these shirts encouraged violence against women and told the guy selling shirts to “Fuck off!” We all nodded and shared our support, but then the stringy haired string bean leading the group said “It’s interesting that you chose to say ‘fuck’- which is a sexual word ,to express a violent idea” and instead of supporting and encouraging our frat boy friend for taking a stance- he crapped all over him for using the wrong word. And I remember watching this happen and thinking “Huh. FUCK YOU! There’s no way I’m going to participate in anything you organize ever again. I just hope I never live in a world where words are more important than actions, where everything we think and say is scrutinized for ideological correctness and where shitheads use semantics to feel superior. That would suck!” So….hey, everybody- Welcome to 2014!

Look, I get it- the things we say matter, we all have unconscious biases and good intentions aren’t enough. But just cause the road to hell is paved with good intentions it doesn’t mean the road to heaven is paved with self righteous dickitude. You keep reminding me that I’m an unconscious asshole- fine, I might as well just be one consciously, too and at least have some fun with it. And speaking of “fun”- when did we lose our ability to have any? I’m not talking about just liberals here, the one thing Americans on both sides of the aisle agree about is that the only way to react to anything they see, hear or read is to get their  panties in a twist- and if you just read this and are outraged that I said “panties in a twist” – well then, I might just be talking about you (I can rephrase it to “briefs in a bunch” if it makes you happy- or is that culturally insensitive to the plight of Wedgie Sufferers?) Seriously- when did we get so uptight? Is Social Media to blame? It’s true that Twitter accounts are like hemorrhoids-Cal Seething- 122914- magiceye no inflamed asshole is complete without one. And, of course, there’s academia- we used to stare at Magic Eye posters looking for dolphins and students today watch Two Broke Girls looking for White Privilege (I haven’t seen either). And, yeah, sure, if the media’s gonna fish for clicks by chumming the internet 24/7 then of course the dumber sharks will fight it out in the comment section.

But, regardless of the cause- I think we should make 2015 the year we all GET OVER IT. A scientist Tweets out a joke about Isaac Newton’s birthday on Christmas? GET OVER IT! A total stranger’s email is stolen and after you read it without her permission you don’t care for what she has to say in a PRIVATE conversation? GET OVER IT! Black James Bond? GET OVER IT! White Ramses II? GET OVER IT! The President who’s been busting his ASS for six years to save this nation of ingrates from the catastrophic stupidity of his predecessor, and has managed to get a hell of a lot done despite unprecedented opposition, wants to take his family to Hawaii for a week and play a GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE ROUND OF GOLF??? GET. OVER. IT!! #getoverit Just think how much better life would be if we as a nation just took a fucking chill pill. And- hey- I’ve still got money on my FSA- CHILL PILLS FOR EVERYONE! Wash ‘em down with an Abilify chaser and a warm mug of hot chocolate. Seriously-NO ONE???

Or- if you’re going to be righteously indignant all the time- at least be entertaining. Or, if you can’t be entertaining- at least be consistent, which brings me to:

#3 Islam-ipocracy

Quick impression of my fellow liberals (love you guys!)

White cop murders a black man through the use of excessive and unjustified force: This is an outrage! All cops are racists, power crazed, jackbooted thugs committing state sanctioned violations of human rights. We demand action!

Islamic radicals murder 140 people in a school, days after other Islamic radicals kidnap 100 young women, days after a different Islamic radical takes over a café in Australia:  Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not jump to any Cal Seething- 122914- cafeconclusions. These are radical extremists who don’t represent Islam as a whole. And anyhow, we’re pretty sure it’s Israel’s fault.

So….yeah. Here’s the thing. If we’re going to say that the repeated incidents of violence and discrimination by police officers demonstrate that there is a deeply ingrained culture of bias and abuse that must be dealt with on a macro level (which, fuck yeah, it absolutely should) – then, why can’t we say that the far more frequent- and exponentially worse instances of violence and brutality committed by Islamic radicals, who are heavily funded by wealthy citizens and the governments of Arab nations, demonstrate that there is a deeply ingrained culture of extreme intolerance, unspeakable cruelty, vicious hatred and an utter lack of regard for human life in Islam today that needs to be dealt with on a macro level???? If we truly consider ourselves to be advocates for human rights- why aren’t we FUCKING ADVOCATING where it counts the most? Why are we less outraged by what’s happening in the Middle East as we are by who Ridley Scott casts to play Middle Easterners? Where are the cries for divestment to state sponsors of terror like Saudi Arabia and Qatar? Look, Qatar may be a great country when you’re stuck with a “Q” in Scrabble- but it’s a living hell for migrant workers (migrant workers playing Scrabble are conflicted.)

And, yeah, I know, all religions have their crazy extremists- but, come on here, when was the last time Westboro Baptist Church members strapped bombs to themselves and blew up a bus? And when was the last time Chabad committed a beheading on YouTube? Sure- Christianity had the Crusades back in the day and they were horrible. Fair enough. Tell you what- if the Pope starts sending armies of children to the Holy Land to be massacred, I’ll be the first to tweet about it. I’ll start working on the hashtags now (#CancelCrusades #TemplarLivesMatter)

Look, I’m not saying we should scream epithets at people wearing turbans or throw rocks through Muslim owned businesses. Of course that’s bigoted, wrong, and intolerant. I am just saying- we need to openly acknowledge that there is a very serious human rights crisis around the globe and that the international Islamic community needs to be held accountable. Oh, and that there is a whole lot worse shit happening in the Middle East than what’s going on in Israel- which brings me to another minor point of contention with my leftist comrades:

#4 Endlessly attacking the only island of democracy in the ocean of madness that is the Middle East is just plain silly. So…yeah- some of you may want to skip this part. Maybe read this inspiring article about Eight Ways You Can Improve Your Life in 2015 and meet me a little later.For the rest of you-  I’m not saying Israel is perfect- they’ve done their share of incredibly stupid things and have certainly not always dealt well with the Palestinian population- and for the mistakes they have made they need to be held accountable- no question.

But, imagine for a moment that Canada and Mexico refused to recognize the US and were hell bent on destroying it. Actually- no, Cal Seething- 122914- mapfuck that. Imagine that you lived in Rhode Island- no, no, no- wait- hold on it gets worse. Imagine that you lived in Rhode Island and that Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Ohio and Delaware were all totally committed to assuring your absolute destruction. I know what you’re thinking- OH NO- NOT DELAWARE! But yes-EVEN DELAWARE hated you and, when they failed to defeat you militarily, they turned to sponsoring waves of terror attacks, including suicide bombings and indiscriminate rocket firings from densely populated civilian areas. What would you do? Shut up. I’ll tell you what you would do. You would fucking defend yourself- you’re an American. We got attacked ONCE and turned the fucking world upside-down. And you know what, you’d probably make some mistakes, and some tragic shit would happen, and some of the wrong people would die because your enemies don’t care about the lives of their citizens and fire rockets from schools and hospitals- but, seriously, what the fuck are you supposed to do? No- please – enlighten me oh fucking enlightened ones- and tell me what the fuck, exactly, would you do?

Or, wait – how about this? If you believe that Israel is the real problem country in the Middle East- why not take a little trip around the area? Visit some of the neighbors. I hear Syria is beautiful at this time in history. Perhaps you could consult the local peaceful, moderate, Islamic religious authorities and have a little chat with them about gender equality, or gay rights, or religious tolerance, how important it is that the military be inclusive to transgender individuals  (like it is in Israel). Then, after a quick beheading, spend the weekend in Israel hitting the gay clubs in Tel Aviv, tanning topless on the beach in Eilat and protesting in Jerusalem without getting shot. Then, perhaps we can discuss human rights situation in the Middle East. Maybe having your head cut off will open your eyes.

Alright, I could go on at this point cataloging all the terrible stuff that happened this year and how mad it all makes me, but I’ll just save us all a lot of trouble and say:Cal Seething- 122914- injustice

#5 Absolutely all injustice committed by anyone against anyone at any place at any time ever from the beginning of the world to infinity.  It’s all very, very  bad.

And- oh yeah-  Guns (#5)what’s up with all the guns? Guns are dumb. We have the right to own grapefruit, too- but if you blabbed on all the time about how important grapefruit is and how the man is taking your grapefruit away and you stockpiled a basement full of grapefruit to assert your rights, everyone would just think you’re nuts. And, guess what? You kinda are.

And, oh oh oh, why does everyone always think my dog is a boy (#7)– It’s not enough she’s got body image issues, now you’ve gotta give her gender issues as well?? I don’t need a fuzzy little Shiloh Jolie Pitt on my hands, thank you very much, soCal Seething- 122914- shiloh just stick to “it” if you don’t know.

Alright- good enough- the Top Ten or, well, Seven Things I’m Seething About in 2014. Now I can just kick back and relax knowing I’ve spent all my FSA money in 2014 and I’m leaving nothing on the table. Wait- what? Our fiscal year ends in June? CRAP. Well- I guess I’ve got my first thing to be pissed about in 2015. Alright- now who wants to join me in a celebratory hot chocolate? OH COME ON!!!! Fuck y’all then.


Cal Seething- 122914- hotchoc

Want some now??? PSYCH! Happy Fucking New Year! Let’s bring back “psych” in 2015!

Awesome map above created by 





[California Seething] This Post Has Nothing Whatsoever to Do with Dogs

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Right, OK, where was I?

Oh yeah- that’s right- I was gonna write about the Simpsons before I went all Debbie Dead Dog on you people. So…yeah…the Cal-Seething--100714--punkySimpsons. Funny stuff, right? There’s Homer and Marge and, of course, Bart and Lisa and Punky. Hi Punky! Punky punky punky punky!!!! Can I rub your belly?? Can I rub your belly?? Rubbing. Rubbing. Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?? Punky doodles! Kisses Punky. Can you give kisses? Punky give kisses? Punky give kisses?? Oh thank you Punky for the kisses! Thank you for the kisses Punky Wunky. That Punky that funky Punky. Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?? It’s Punky!!!

Ahem. Excuse me. It appears I’ve adopted a small white dog named Punky and also turned into an idiot.

OK- let’s just get this guilt part out of the way. Yeah, we got a new dog a couple of weeks after we lost Lenny. No, we didn’t do it to replace him. Losing him sucked. It still sucks and it’s still weird that he’s not a part of our lives. Hell, I still have him as my desktop wallpaper on my laptop- and that’s only partially because I’m much much too lazy to change it. But much like I’ve said before that the only thing worse than doing theatre is not doing theatre, the only thing worse than losing a dog is not having a dog- so- we brought Punky into our lives. RESCUED her, in fact, from the POUND, where she would have DIED. Or worse yet- been Cal-Seething--100714-curledADOPTED by someone even more RETARDED than ME- like…uhm….and early 2000’s CELEBUTANTE or a JAMES BOND VILLAIN allergic to CATS. So…yeah. How you like them apples, fucko? Now who’s feeling guilty? Punky’s not feeling guilty. Does Punky like apples? Does Punky want to go outside? Does Punky wunky want to go outside for pee pee weepie? Punky go pee pee? Punky go pee pee???  Let’s go! Let’s go Punky! Let’s go pee pee!!! Let’s go pee pee with Punky!!! Pee pee Punky pee pee!


Oh God. I hate myself. Seriously I never want to stop punching myself in the face. The teddy bears won’t even talk to me anymore- but can Cal-Seething--100714-bearyou blame me for acting this way? Just look at her. And she’s so damn affectionate. She licks my face! She snuggles up to me! She pees with excitement when I come home from work- no one has EVER been that happy to see me. Hell, I’m lucky to get a “sup” or “hey man” or “internet’s down”- but urinating on the carpet with wild abandon??? I never dreamed I could be so lucky (sniff). Sure, they used to urinate with glee when I’d show up at the Powerhouse- but only because I came to fix the toilet. But I don’t need a plunger to unclog Punky’s heart- she’s just pleased as punch that I walked through the door.  I mean, Lenny of blessed memory had many wonderful qualities- but enthusiastic greetings wasn’t one of them. Living with Lenny was like living with an unemployed, stoner roommate- like Zach Galifianakis with more acting chops and less hair. I’d come home after a hard day at work, he’d be lying in bed undressed and we’d sort of grunt hello at each other and he’d go back to scratching himself. Then I would go into the kitchen and he would amble in, bleary eyed all like “dude- are you making dog food? Cause I’ll totally have some.” I swear- if he had thumbs, we’d have gotten him a bong and an X-Box and a SUNY Albany diploma. He was a drink the milk from the carton and put it back in the fridge with a super-tiny amount kind of dog.

With Punky, though, there’s much of a sense of occasion to my  homecoming. Hell every time I come home from work, I’m like a soldier coming home from Afghanistan for a surprise reunion with his family at halftime of a Dallas Cowboys game in a particularly manipulative Budweiser ad- assuming, of course, I come from a family of midgets  who lick each other compulsively and have incredibly poor bladder control. And we all Cal Seething-100714-duggarknow there’s no such family cause if there were they’d have a show on TLC right between I Turned My Wife Into a Cum Guzzling Fetus Factory for Jesus and Here Comes Diabetes! BTW- I realize that it’s a big misogynistic for me to assume that Jim Bob “turned” Michelle into a Cum Guzzling Fetus Factory. For more misogynistic opinions about the Duggars- check out my hip new misogyny blog  “the Gyst”- recently called “a refreshing alternative to Jezebel” by and Stephen A. Smith. Be sure to read Roger Godell’s latest post “I made everything pink- what more do you gals want?” and our Unwanted Advice Column for women- “Ask A Straight White Guy” – this week’s tip “just giggle and take it as a compliment”.

Ooooooh! Does Punky want belly rubs? Does. Punky Want. Belly. Rubby Rub Rubs???? Belly rubs for Punkyyyyyy. Belly rubs for PunkyRubPunkydoodles.

Oh God. Somebody shoot me.

So- at this point, you might be asking- wasn’t this supposed to be about the Simpsons? Yes. Yes it was. But let me tell you how we got Punky instead. PUNKY!!!!

It was a couple of weeks ago on a Friday and we had pretty much decided that we had found a dog who met all our criteria: medium sized, male dog, mix of poodle & cocker spaniel (the poodle is the baby laxative of dog breeds- you can use it to cut a pure breed and still sell it for the same price. Supposedly it’s because poodles really smart and don’t shed, but we all know it’s cause every word’s funnier with the addition to “poo” – go on – try it “weiniepoo”, “cockapoo” “pit poo”- you can’t go wrong! )- not a terrier, so he wouldn’t be too spastic. His name was Willie and he was temporarily residing at the East Valley Animal Shelter in Van Nuys. We weren’t totally sure we wanted another dog yet- but we figured- hey- we’d go check him out. We had tickets to see La Cal Seething- 100714-traviataTraviata that night at LA Opera, an anniversary gift from me to my wife- but we figured- we’d leave work around 1 PM, head out to Van Nuys, check out Willie, grab lunch and have plenty of time to go home, change and have a nice, romantic, anniversary dinner and arrive at the opera in a leisurely fashion. If we did decide to adopt him, he would still have to be neutered- so we wouldn’t be able to pick him up until Saturday and therefore we wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him while we’re at the opera. Perfect! Kismet! Everything was falling into place.

So we got in the car and headed for Van Nuys with a sense of adventure and excitement (no one in history has ever said that before) but, as the Old Testament says “Fortune rarely smiles on a Jets fan.” When I called the East Valley Shelter to check if Willie was still available, I was told he’d been adopted just moments before. All of the air went out of the car. We were aimlessly and doglessly drifting towards Beverly Hills. When the dog we weren’t sure we wanted became the dog we that we couldn’t have, we knew for certain that we couldn’t go back home to an empty house. After a bit of searching on the iPad- and perhaps a slight loosening of our criteria (maybe doesn’t have to be medium sized? maybe doesn’t have to be male? maybe just has to be available?) we found that there were a bunch of possible dogs in the South LA Shelter. By then it was around 2:30 – so we figured- ok, great- we skip lunch, drive down, get there by 3:30, check out some dogs and still have plenty of time for a nice, romantic dinner before the opera.

We made it down to the South LA Shelter, conveniently located at the corner of “I’m not a Racist” and “Yikes! Close the Windows” around 4 PM and began walking among the cages, trying not to think about the fact that we were window shopping on Death Row. We found a few dogs that struck our fancy- one in particular was part dalmatian part poodle (dalmapoo- see-always funny!) I went looking for a staff member who might be able to help us meet the dogs we were interested in. Turns out all of the staff were ensconced behind a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only- Do Not Enter” as a safety precaution against helping the public. It was Cal Seething- 100714-selmathere that I met Mona- who had all the grace, charm and governmental customer service acumen of a Latina Selma Bouvier (and sort of the hair, too). Mona pulled out the dalmapoo who was even less enthusiastic about meeting us than she was.  There was another dog  we were interested in who wasn’t available yet, and so we came to a cage with a grey-white little fluffball with matted, tangled fur and a Chihuahua so absurdly eager to please, he should have been wearing a little bow tie and saying “Yo quero ha-cha-cha!!! Eh?? Eh??? Is this thing on?” We wanted to see the fluffball, but the Chihuahua came too. At this point, Mona, realized she had a couple of pigeons in her shelter, and so she switched gears from inconvenienced bureaucrat to used dog salesman – (from Selma to Gil.)

And it was there, in the small square of patchy grass which was balding like Dylan McKay before he first left the show and then mysteriously came back with more hair that we first encountered Punky (not yet called Punky). She was pretty but she was a mess- a Pasadena Rose Princess turning tricks on Hollywood Blvd (are there still hookers on Hollywood Blvd- and if so- where do they park??) but when I got down on all fours and looked into her eyes and she gave me that curious flat smile of hers- well- I knew for sure that she was coming home with us. And she knew for sure that I was a crazy person who had just gotten down on his hands and knees on grass so utterly covered in piss it would make Port Authority blush just to get to know her better. And Mona- well, Mona knew for sure that there would be one less dog stuck at the shelter that night and it wouldn’t be the Chihuahua (“that’s ok folks- I’ll be here all week! Unless somebody adopts me….anybody…..take this dog- please????”). PunkyEric

Right, so now it’s 4:50. The shelter’s closing in 10 minutes and we’ve got a dog we like- great! Except- crap! La Fucking Traviata! (Verdi’s original name for it) Fuck! If we leave her at the shelter, she might not still be available in the morning but we can’t adopt her and then leave her home alone all night- I mean, sure we could leave her home alone all night if we wanted to come home to find our place entirely covered with urine and feces but we weren’t feeling that nostalgic for Port Authority so we were at an impasse until our salvation arrived in the form of an announcement over the loudspeaker “Chameleon is Down! The Computer System is Down!” Surely this means we won’t be able to adopt Punky (not yet called Punky) tonight and they’ll have to let us come back tomorrow to get her. Hurray for incompetent IT departments!!! (are there really any other kind?) The opera is saved! Fortune is finally smiling upon us! Could the firing of Rex Ryan be far behind? And then a very stressed out looking woman in a lab coat (like Doctor Without Borders level stressed out), Doctor Whateverhernameis, came out confirmed that, in fact, we wouldn’t be able to adopt Punky (not yet called Punky) with the computer system down and that she would be willing to make an exception to the standard shelter policy and hold Punky (again, not yet called Punky) over night so we could pick her up the next day- and would that be ok with us?  “FUCK YEAH!” we thought “Sure, I suppose, if we must” we said. We struggled mightily to hide our inner glee behind a mask of inconvenienced disappointment and headed for our car as fast as our little legs would carry us. And, then, just when we thought we were out:

“Chameleon is online! The computer system is up!” CRAP!! This is just like that Patriots – Chiefs game- too good to be true! Mona, whom at this point had made it her life’s mission to make sure that we weren’t getting out of there without that motherfucking dog grabbed us by the elbows and yanked us into the office. A medical history was produced, forms were printed, the shelter workers were moving with an urgency never seen by bureaucrats in a situation where neither cake nor collective bargaining are involved. Wait wait wait- here’s another announcement: “CHAMELEON IS DOWN!” Woo-Hoo!! “CHAMELEON IS BACK!” Doh! And before we knew it, and before their totally useless computer system could collapse again (why would you name a computer system after a creature that never looks the same way twice?), Mona was shoving Punky (not yet called Punky) into my arms wrapped in a flee ridden pink sheet (“just in case she pukes in the car”- oh boy! something to look forward to!) and we were on our way out of the shelter, headed north with a filthy, small white dog wrapped in a filthy pink sheet at 4:57 with absolutely no idea what we were going to do with her for the night.

It was at this point that I texted our dog sitter with what is hands down the bougiest electronic message of all time since Richie Cal Seething- 100714-richieRich Tweeted “Consuela got the caviar but forgot toast points. Who’s got two thumbs and is eating Beluga like a bitch with a spork? #thisguy #thuglife” My message was: “So….we just adopted a small white dog. Have opera tickets tonight. Could we please leave her with you for a couple of hours?” And, Donna, being awesome and also thrilled to have her best clients back texted back “Sure :) Can’t wait to meet her” Great! The First Worldiest of all First world problems- solved! So…it’s 5:15 PM- plenty of time to get up to Donna’s, drop of Punky (still not named Punky), pick up a few essentials for her, stop for a quick dinner and make it to the opera on time!

Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. We got to Donna’s around 6:30. Dropped off Punky (whom at this point we were thinking maybe we’d call Dolly?), hit the pet store and then, at 7:10 PM- we headed towards Downtown for the opera, cramming a leisurely, romantic pre-opera dinner from Jack in the Box into our grease holes in the car as we crawled through traffic heading downtown on Washington Blvd like a soldier bleeding to death crawling to the First Aid station through the desert who is stuck in a huge line of other soldiers who are bleeding to death trying to get to the First Aid station because one asshole soldier who’s bleeding to death in a Prius is trying to turn left. Finally, we made it to the opera at 7:57, took out a quick second mortgage to pay for valet parking, ran inside not even stopping to pee and collapsed into our seats just in time to wait around for the opera to start ten minutes late. After a beautiful and extremely restful performance of La Traviata (SPOILER ALERT: Everybody’s sad and the nice hooker dies) we rushed back to Donna’s, picked up Punky (Roxie? Moxie? Tallulah? Sam?) took her home and passed out around midnight only to wake up the next day with a filthy, adorable, tiny little fluff ball licking our faces so that, Cal Seething- 100714- bartmuch like Bart when he wakes up to find he joined the Junior Campers, we were wondering just what the fuck we had done the night before. We were pretty sure, though, that we were gonna call her Punky.

So- yeah, that’s how we set out to adopt an an available male, medium sized, cockapoo and ended up with a female, tiny terrierpoo (huh. that one doesn’t work so much) who was met absolutely none of our criteria except “available”.  And in need of a good home. And adorable. And ours. And that’s why the Simpsons is the greatest show on television. Got it? Does Punky get it? Does Punky like the Simpsons? Punkydoodles like the Simpsons? Punky Wunky like the Simpsons? Yes she does. Yes she does. Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good wittle girl?? Who’s a goodie-woodie wittle girl?? Punky!

Please. I’m begging you. Shoot me now. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand myself like this. The next post, I promise, will be all about the Simpsons and nothing about Punky. Although- wait a second- did Showtime just announce they were doing a new EricPunkyJetsseason of Twin Peaks episodes??? Holy crap!! I’m excited as as Dale Cooper having that first cup of coffee in the morning. I’m as excited as Pete finding a fish in the percolator. I’M SO EXCITED I COULD…..uh oh….oopsie….gotta go. Now I know when Punky feels when I get home. Is Punky excited?? Is Punky excited????? IS PUNKY EXCITED???? Yes. Yes she is.Now we’re both wet. Oh well. Who needs dignity anyhow when I’ve got PUNKY??? Clearly not me. Just look at the Jets shirt. It’s totally not me. Dignity was always more of a Lenny thing.Cal-Seething--091514--lenny

See what I mean?