Me: *taking to my roommate about a boy*
Roommate: “Oh my god, you sound like a real human being. You have feelings.”
Me: “I know, it’s weird, right?”
If you want to make friends that are dogs, constantly walk around parks and other public spaces where people take their dogs with a stick of Pup-Peroni in your pocket. Stick your hand inside your pocket every once in a while. Touch the stick of Pup-Peroni. Let the scent of it coat your fingers. Maybe take the stick of Pup-Peroni out when no one is looking and rub it on your shirt. Put it back into your pocket. Think about the stick of Pup-Peroni. Let it become a part of you—let it shine through you. Casually approach dogs. Stand close enough so that they can detect the essence of Pup-Peroni on your person, but not close enough to make it obvious that you’re trying to catch their attention. Dogs can tell when you’re trying too hard. Wait for a gentle wind to pass between you. The dog’s nose will twitch, it will advance towards you and begin to sniff and probe you. Its owner might apologize, and attempt to pull it away, but just say, “It’s okay.” Lean down, lock eyes with the dog and whisper—low, so that only it can hear you—“You’re mine now.”
Holding in this combination coffee/vodka poop is the most difficult thing I’ll have to do today.
Last night one of my coworkers was out celebrating her birthday. She brought a big group of friends to the bar. One of them was her Gay Best Friend, who I’ve never talked to for more than five minutes. At one point, near the end of the night, he came behind the bar to give me a hug, and then he had someone take a picture of the two of us. While they were taking the picture, he talked into the side of my face and said, “We’re going to be gay best friends, okay? You don’t even have to penetrate me. I mean, you can if you want, but you don’t have to! I’m a bottom! I love you!”
On Thursday night, Shangela was hanging out at my favorite bar. Once it was pointed out that she was there, she sat on top of the bar and held court while people lined up to take photos and buy her shots. A friend I’d made that night was too scared to ask for a photo, so I walked her over and pushed her through the gawkers until she was standing right next to Shangela. We asked for a photo, got one, and then I offered to buy Shangela a drink. She smiled at me, touched my hand, and said, “Do you have obligations?” I asked her what she meant by that, and she said, “I have a rule. I don’t drink with men who have obligations.”
This morning I was walking through the cemetery and I met two dogs that had the same name.