My dog, although beautiful and covering me with buckets of saliva any time I walk in the door, is turning into the beast I am when I first wake up. She, Kaya, has separation anxiety so to avoid finding out if she'll be stronger than the Incredible Hulk and chew through her cage, I'm hiring a trainer, to come to the apartment (it's that necessary). I also don't like cleaning up lots of pee. Big dogs mean MORE pee.
|The cute beast sleeps.|
My job, overwhelming and sprinting after deadlines, is still a job in this godforsaken economy. If I saw myself 3 years ago complaining, I'd have the nose of Mickey Rourke..beaten down after years of punches.
|My godson, rooting me on to get work done because he needs more toys. I can't possibly deny him.|
My boyfriend, rough and tough and fabulous (he likes the movie The Fast & The Furious which was almost a deal breaker upper)- just lost his father. It's an emotional roller coaster that I've never been on and I consider myself lucky in that respect. I go home at night balancing invisible cartons of eggs because I don't want to open my big, fat mouth and say something that might set off fireworks ("Do you mind taking out the garbage? Wait, no, sorry, I'll do it, I know, it's my garbage, I stink, I'm sorry, I got it.")
|Me, balancing eggs. My glasses are pretty much the same.|
|The angry walker, but he usually wears sweats while he's chanting.|