Friday, December 21, 2012

It's here!

Mayan Apocalyspe! WOOHOO! Stop yelling at the monitor. I know nothing happened. I mean there is still like 10 hours left of 12/21/12, but yeah, if anything was going to happen it probably would've started by now. I feel like I'm back in grade school, when the weather forecast said snow and you wake up to find nothing but grass and asphalt outside your bedroom window. Looks like we're going to school kids! Put on your slacks and sweater vests! (unless you went to public school, then put on your ripped jeans and Metallica T-shirt! At least that's what I always assumed you wore in the late 80s/early 90s.)

So did anyone use this time to reflect on what they really wanted to do with their life? I mean I know I've spent the last month poking fun at ridiculous things that could signal the end of the world, but what if today was your last day on Earth? What if today was the last day for the Earth altogether? Is there a difference between those two questions for you? Would you have lived life differently, knowing that you would not be leaving behind a legacy or someone to remember you? I was just afraid now that the apocalypse is passing, that you wouldn't have something to keep you up at night. You're Welcome.

Speaking of things that keep you up at night, I got a dog. Let me rephrase, I got a puppy. A chocolate lab puppy. He's the biggest jerk I've ever met. If you really want to give your ego a check, get a puppy. Nothing will lower your self-importance like cleaning up poop from every single room in your house, following said doo-doo bandito constantly around the house to ensure he does not repeat the heinous act, and basically having your entire life ruled by something 1/20th your size. I am obviously not handling this well. I've also read a lot about training your puppy. People who write puppy training books are also the biggest jerks I've ever met. Every "expert" has said that to get him to stop biting you should say ouch and pull your hand away. My puppy then barks at me in a way that says, "Stop being a pussy, that doesn't hurt," and then lunges at my hand even more lustily than before. Spray him with a water bottle? He likes it. Shake a can of rocks? He bites the can. Try to turn your back to him? He bites your calf. Try and put him in time out? He barks for 2 hours non-stop. I'm just letting everyone know that I'm not complaining or looking for advice. This article is my white flag. You have won, Max. The house is yours. I'm moving back in with my mom.