Nice Outfit!

Seriously, get this outfit off me!

I mean it, I feel ridiculous. Get it off. Lady, just because your boyfriend doesn’t want to settle down, doesn’t mean you should pretend that I’m a real baby in hopes that he’ll play along in your twisted game of “house”. I promise you’re scaring him off, and it makes you look insane. Think about it, you dress me like a Gap employee and tote me around like a damned fashion accessory. It’s disgusting, and you need to get your shit straight. Meantime, you can stop force-feeding me Altoids, you bitch. While I’m on the record, there are some other things I could do without, you psycho. Yeah, as it turns out, I don’t really care for the ylang-ylang oil massage. It’s not relaxing; it actually hurts and generally creeps me out. In fact, it’s damn close to rape. Oh, this just in, I’m not actually a fucking vegetarian. Do you honestly think that I prefer couscous and tofu over my lamb and beef nuggets? Lettuce wraps? Are you fucking serious… what is your damage? I would rather eat my own shit, and guess what, when you’re asleep, I do. Then I lick your whore face and laugh about it. Don’t even get me started on my name. Louis Vuitton? You superficial bitch. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? I’m already wearing the gayest sweater since the "Cosby Show", but you insist on naming me after an expensive line of European handbags. Seriously, fuck you. You make me look like a complete pussy and I hate you for it. For real, the next time you try to gel my hair, I will tear a hole in your windpipe. I swear to God I will. Not that you’d ever fucking notice, but you continue to place me in dangerous situations. Just yesterday at the dog park, I could feel the cold hard stare from a Doberman through my Kenneth Cole double-breasted pea coat. Shit, even the French poodle called me a fag, and he was wearing a beret. Do you have any idea what would happen to a dog like me at the pound? You don’t even WANT to know. I step in there with even a whiff of CK One on me, and it’s all over. It pisses me off that you don’t pull this shit on the cat (Although it’s probably because she’s a lesbo). I am really tired of the smug looks I get from that butch-ass feline. Just once I’d like to see you put an ascot around her neck and let her feel what this shit is like. Then she’ll realize it’s not funny, and I’m in real pain here. At the very least you could throw a flannel shirt on that dike and even it up here, you owe it to me. I promise I will end all nine of her lives if I ever get a chance to chase her without these miniature Steve Madden patent leather urban utility boots strapped on my paws. Not that I’d get far; even without the shoes I still have to battle these Italian micro suede chinos. Listen lady, I’m at the end of my rope and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking (Yes, there’s a lot of time for that while you watch E!, thumb through your copy of People magazine, stopping occasionally to read the text message on your jewel-encrusted Sidekick). I have decided that I’m running away. I’m going to take my chances on the outside. Tomorrow morning, during doggy yoga, I am fucking gone, baby – and there is nothing you can do to stop me. The last thing you’ll see is my puckered little asshole as I’m out the door, but not before I leave a hot, soft and juicy turd pile right on my miniature doggy yoga mat – and I’ve got a half a pound of espresso beans and 3 bran muffins for breakfast to make sure it’s a good one. See you in hell, bitch.

A birthday, some cake, and a trip to Vegas!

Well it's coming...almost here...am I supposed to be worried about it? Well I'm not. I'm turning 30 years old on April 23rd and what's the big deal? I do have this strange feeling though. I remember waiting so long till I finally turned 20 years old and was finally out of my TEENS...and then my 21st birthday so I could leagally drink.

Of course once I turned 21 I actually drank less so it wasn't that big of a deal. Then when I turned 25 I was excited because I was finally going to get lower insurance rates! That's been about the excitement attached to birthdays. So now what? What do you "realize" or become when you're 30? I know so many people my age who are still trying to figure out what they want to be when they grow up and while I don't have that 100% figured out.. I think I was busy doing that in my early 20's...

So for my birthday I am headed to Las Vegas with Scott, my parents, and my sister. They are flying from Seattle and New Jersey to meet Scott and me in Vegas. We'll spend 4 nights there and I will be going to the Skywalk at the Grand Canyon---which I'm so excited about. I'm not a person to be afraid of heights etc..in fact I think more than anything I want 30 to be the year I'm not afraid of anything anymore...how about that?!? No wait....spiders. Nevermind...I have to hold onto a few things from my childhood.

That's it for now. I'll plan on many pics of my trip and make sure to put them here in a few weeks.