Kentucky's Finest

Before I begin, please imagine yourself in Kentucky: banjos playing, people with three teeth running wild, crotchety folks with southern drawls sitting on their porch with straw hanging out of their mouths, and people ruling animal shelters who apparently do not know their animals.

The Ventura County Star reports that an animal shelter released a Shiba Inu into the wild, mistaking it for a coyote. This was decided after a wildlife "expert" was consulted. Not only did they put someones family pet at the mercy of real coyotes, they also cannot spell Shiba Inu correctly in their article, which you may read by clicking here. 

Needless to say, I was furious, because I was putting myself in the shoes of the dog owner and thinking of Bowser. (I know. Just call me the Crazy Dog Lady. I've fully accepted the title). 

I read this story on Monday.

On Tuesday, I was stopped while walking Bowser by a young man attempting to sell magazines to fund some trip to Cancun (like anyone would be sympathetic to THAT cause). While I did not buy into his scheme, I did strike up a friendly conversation, in which he revealed he was from Oklahoma, which is really just a stone's throw from Kentucky. No joke, he said, "What kinda dog is that? He looks like a coyote!" And coyote was pronounced (kai-oat).

I then asked if he was a wildlife expert before he was a magazine salesman. Okay I'm lying, that would have been rude. But I really couldn't believe my ears. What a coinkydink.

I shouldn't be so critical, as I did believe that a barracuda was a jungle cat for over two decades, but STILL.That doesn't count people. We're talking about dogs. Everyone knows what dogs look like. And if anyone should know, it better be a wildlife expert.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but we seriously need to get some more funding to the US education system and quit spending it on war. They're getting dumber in the south folks!

Concert Etiquette 101

Dear Asshole Concert Goers,


I have a bone to pick with each and every one of you. I will be calling on you by name, so listen up.

To the hipster with circulation-severing jeans- whining louder and longer will not make the entrance line move any quicker, so stop making the experience even more agonizing for the rest of us.

To the hippy with reeking dreads- before you insist on standing directly on me to get a better glimpse of MGMT, please wash your hair. I’m pretty sure there are several critters going through the life cycle on your cranium and it smells like death and dandruff.

To the crazy concert dancer- I’ve had enough of your interpretive flailing. How is it that you have room to express your LSD trip while I have no room to merely stand? I like my crazy concert dancers to be jerky, compact, and unpredictable. It not only entertains, but keeps limbs and phalanges from coming into contact with onlookers. None of this sweeping motion shit that knocks people over repeatedly. Go take another hit and try again.

To the Marlboro Man- why do you insist on smoking like a chimney in the middle of a sardine-packed crowd? Get a nicotine patch or pay in advance for my iron lung.

To the couple drunkenly making out in the middle of the crowd- take your hormones back to your PT Cruiser, and put us all out of our misery. I freaking hate those cars.

To the person that insists on starting a mosh pit and shoving everyone when it’s 89 degrees out- the last thing I want to do is touch anyone else, never mind get shoved and trampled to the ground, on the bottom of a dog pile, with everyone around me that decided not to wear deodorant. You need to be punched in the gooch, and stat.

To the aspiring rapper forcibly trying to get me to purchase your latest cut- try another method besides sexual harassment and shoving it in my hand, but only if you would like to avoid being sodomized with your own beats.

To the skank on the shoulders of the meathead- not only are you blocking my view, but you should consider wiping before you decide to have your ass at face level to those around you.

To all concert goers 6’0 and over- why do you go out of your way to find the shortest person in the crowd to plant yourself in front of? WHY?! I finally found the one spot I can see!

Thank you all for making my latest concert experience a better blog entry than an enjoyable memory. You all owe me a refund.

Best of Luck,

Hana

Bowsie Boo Boo

Bowser before going destructo

I don't think you are ever completely prepared to own your first pet (unless of course, you grew up on a farm or were raised by wolves). But for us city folk, it means stopping your daily grind to care for your new family member, postponing your weekly happy hour date so you can run home to walk/feed Spot, or finding a dog-sitter if you plan to be gone for any period of time exceeding the threshold of the dog's ability to hold it. On-the-go is not an option, but rather, I'll-go-when-I-can. It's great training for your first child, which I have boldly postponed for about a decade after seeing the care involved in a pup.


With that being said, owning a dog has been one of the best things I've ever done. For those that know me in person, they are disgusted with the way our little Bowser is spoiled, toys littering the front room, organic dog food filling his own kitchen cupboard, and the way he is spoken to, reasoned with and given privileges that even exceed my boyfriend's at times. Did I forget to mention his facebook fan page? It is safe to say I'm obsessed.

Before owning Bowser, I was coveting a puppy so bad that it became second nature for me to type in petfinder.com right after checking emails in the morning. But I wasn't prepared for the emotional exchange or relationship that you truly do have with your pet. I really do love Bowser, and like any human relationship, it comes with fighting, sad moments, happy moments, and moments where I want to kick his puppy butt. But it's all communicated through barking and body language. You have conversations with your dog, but it's not like the dog will be speaking back to you. You create a bond that is unlike any other human relationship, but rather an exchange of mutually understood animal instincts.

Now, as much as I love my puppy, we have some relationship issues we need to seriously work out. Lately, he's begun to go into destructo-mode. Last week, I came home to find that not one, two, or three pairs of my shoes had been eaten, but FOUR. Luckily Kohls was having a sale and I was able to repurchase them quite cheaply. However, this has started to become a serious problem. Two days ago, we took off his cone of shame (he was neutered last Monday - and like a loving mother, I did stay up all night to comfort him). Because he was sooo incredibly happy to be rid of that thing, he decided it was time to celebrate by doing only what could be described as going full retard (thank you Robert Downey Jr.).

He was incessantly running, jumping off of furniture, and refused to do anything we asked him to. He also decided it was time to begin marking, where a dog pisses on something every five feet when you walk him. If it gets really bad, it's every five feet in your house. I was under the impression that this behavior was supposed to cease when the dog is neutered, but apparently it only increased in Bowser. Of course, right?

Yesterday, his bad behavior truly hit its peak. Upon coming home to care for him on his lunch, my boyfriend walked in to find that our living room lamp had been destroyed, the cord completely chewed through, a collection of books and DVDs had sufficed as chew toys, my new shoes that I had bought to replace a pair of shoes he had destroyed were again destroyed, and he pissed on the carpet for the third time in 10 hours.

If that wasn't irritating enough, he also knocked over my little 3-year-old nephew as he descended the stairs, and sent him tumbling to the bottom.

That was it. No more spoiled Bowser. His reign of terror is being put to an end. He has officially lost his freedom is going back to the proverbial dog house until he can prove he's not going to destroy everything he sets his sights on (aka, we're keeping him in his crate when we're gone). Neutering is supposed to chill out a dog, but apparently it didn't quite work on Bowser. Our dog is truly special.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but if you plan on getting a dog, don't get too attached to your stuff.

Lady Luck

 Isn't he cute?

Lo and behold - I got a job writing for a corporate magazine! So someone is actually going to PAY me to do THIS for a living! So it won't be Sticks and Stones material (unlike my Dlist column which I still plan to write for now). I mean, don't get me wrong - I don't know what company wouldn't want a sarcastic columnist on their staff, but something tells me shareholders wouldn't take too well to my style. This will still be my forum to bitch and moan about everything and anything. Don't you worry! You sticks and stoners will still get your fix. Nonetheless, I can actually call myself a WRITER! I never thought I'd get to say that, even though I've always been one really.

I found out today that I got the promotion and I seriously thought they were kidding. I was told there was going to be a whole separate interview process after the last one I went through. Apparently, they were so impressed with my interview that they felt I had already blew all 43 applicants out of the water and decided to eliminate the rest of the process and hire me!

And if that isn't luck, when I went to visit my mom in the hospital, not only was she doing well, but the lady in the car in front of me somehow broke the parking attendants cash register and I didn't have to pay for parking!

AND on top of that, I went to Kohls and got four pairs of shoes for $30! I know. Simply amazing.

Is this my day or WHAT? I like the saying, when it rains it pours, but only when it pertains to luck being on my side for the first time ever.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I think I need to go buy a lottery ticket. Shoot!