Why Won’t She Call Me?

Hello, Innernetz!  I’m back!  I would like to say that I’ve spent the last two weeks touring the White House with the First Family-Elect and trying to help them find a suitable, non-allergenic pooch from a local rescue group but that isn’t the case.  Although I’ve eagerly offered my services via emails and phone calls, I’ve yet to receive a response. What’s up with that, First Family-Elect? Call me!

So, while I’ve been waiting, I’ve been writing my thesis. I know, I know! Raise your hand if you are tired of hearing about my fucking thesis?  Hey!  I said raise your hands, not start the freakin’ wave.  Long story short, my thesis advisor has been MIA all semester.  Emails unanswered, calls unreturned, notes left in her mailbox mysteriously never received – I think the people who run her office may be the same ones running interference between me and the First Family-Elect.  *psst!  Michelle, call me!*

So there I am tooling merrily along on my paper thinking that I had until the middle of December to turn it in to my elusive advisor when I discovered that my completed draft was actually due at the end of last week.  Last. Week.  Lastweek.  Last-week. lastweeklastweek.  A cry went up all throughout the land and there was a wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Actually, the crying went on for quite a while.  At one point, I was worried that I was going to short out my keyboard. 

You know, when you put your entire life on hold to take care of something you expect others will as well, right?  I mean, you’d think because Dingo was not blogging that esprit de corps would mean that YOU weren’t blogging either. You’d think that you’d be home wondering why your emails were unanswered, your calls unreturned, and your cute little notes in my mailbox unacknowledged. But no, not at all.  You were all blogging.  There are over 1000 unread posts in my reader.  You are all asshats.  And I mean that in the nicest way possible.  Really. When Michelle finally invites me to a White House dinner, I will make sure to mention you all fondly as I let the crunchy caramelized crust of the crème brule we’re having for dessert melt on my tongue.

What kept me sane this past week, beside the concerned emails I got from some of you – it meant a lot to me to know that I was missed – were Mr. Dingo and Dingo Girl.  Not a Dingo was of little help.  Have you tried typing a paper with your cat lying on your keyboard or batting your hand as you type?  I think the worst Not a Dingo moments were at 3am when she’d actually yawn her Breath Of A Thousand Putrid Corpses in my face and then fall asleep in front of the monitor and snore.  Loudly. 

Mr. Dingo was a big help bringing me Monster Energy Drinks by the gallon and keeping me supplied in tissues until he decided that his life couldn’t be put on hold either and he had to prepare for a hearing.  A hearing?  Don’t get me wrong, Innernetz.  I understand that millions of dollars were at stake and that he’s a big shot NYC lawyer, but I had a paper due at the end of the week!  In the grand scheme of things, I think that I trump some corporate bigwigs, don’t you?  Where is the love, Innernetz?  Where is the love?!

As usual, Dingo Girl was my most trusted and loyal companion.  She always found a way to make me laugh and she didn’t seem to mind that the snot from my crying jags dried into crusty yuckiness on the back of her neck.  But her love and comic relief sometimes comes at the price of my pride. I took a study break to take her to the park on one of the nicest fall days we’ve had this year.  There was a slight chill in the air — the kind of chill that perks you up but also has you looking forward to a cup of hot tea once you get home.  Red and gold leaves were swirling on invisible currents and there was the delicious scent of roasting chestnuts in the air.  In other words, it was a perfect day to have wedding photos in the park.

I understand that Central Park is gorgeous.  What I don’t understand is how in the world people expect to have wedding photos taken in Central Park without some asshat and her dog in the background.  The afternoon that Dingo Girl and I went to the park, we passed by one of the most popular places for wedding photos — the steps by Bethesda Fountain.  When you stand at the bottom of the steps, it seems as if they lead right up into the sky.  The symmetry and the optical illusion appeal to photographers, wedding parties, and dogs who like to mind everyone else’s business.

As Dingo Girl and I approached the steps, we saw a bride and groom posing for pictures.  I really want to see their proofs because this was some fucked up shit. In one photo, the bride is lying on the steps, head in her arms, face obscured.  The man is standing but he’s straddling her as if he’s stepping over her like a piece of litter.  The photographer is yelling, “Good, good!  That’s great!” Dingo Girl and I follow all the other pedestrians to the left side of the steps to avoid being in the photos.  The line was single-file and I went ahead of Dingo Girl knowing that she would follow me.  Only she didn’t.  She decided that it was more interesting to check out the couple who were now facing the camera gripping each other as if they were trying to withstand gale force winds.  They didn’t notice that four steps above them, a 40-pound yellow dog was scooting her butt across the steps like an Atari Space Invader. 

Although neither the photographer nor the bride and groom noticed my butt-scratching dog in the background of their pictures, everyone else did and started laughing hysterically.  I called to her, telling her to get her yellow ass over to my side of the steps but she ignored me, choosing that moment to sit perfectly still facing the camera.  I hissed, whispered, and used sign language that was unmistakable to get her attention.  When she finally deigned to look my way, Dingo Girl smiled — yes smiled! — and began to scoot her butt the remainder of the way across the steps.  It would have been more dignified had I just apologized, walked over, and grabbed her by the collar.  But no, I was still trying to play it cool and there’s nothing cooler than crawling on your hands and knees across cold marble steps hissing and sputtering to your dog who is paying you no mind whatsoever.

I managed to get Dingo Girl, not because she obeyed the commands I spent months and hundreds of dollars with a trainer trying to teach her, but because once she got to the right hand side of the staircase, she walked up three steps and butt-scooted her way back to my side of the stairs.  I promptly snapped her leash on and headed for home.  She trotted and smiled the entire way. I tell you, cold marble and an ill-mannered dog will get your blood flowing.  I think the adrenaline from our outing kept me writing and typing for at least an hour.

So, my thesis draft is done.  I’m just waiting for comments and suggestions but who knows when those will come in because I think my thesis advisor has entered witness protection or something.  My final deadline is in two weeks and in that time I have to make the revisions, give it to my second reader, incorporate those comments, blah, blah, blah.  And to make it all worse, still nothing from Michelle.  Call me Michelle!  I have a non-allergenic dog that I just KNOW you and the First Family-Elect will love!

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One Of These Things . . .

One of these things is not like the other.

The Obama pictures are from Yes We Can (hold babies).
The McCain photo is from Horsesass.org.

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