Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Make it passionate, and impossible to touch

Yesterday my dog rolled in human feces, I kid you not. He went happily tearing off into the woods and came back with it liberally smeared over his ears, neck, feet, back, and embedded into his collar. Whoever produced the criminal dump took the time to wipe with toilet paper, but not to bury their poo. While squatting in the brush, I wonder if they could have envisioned two strangers knee-deep in a creek soaping their excrement off of a miserable, shivering dog.

Last night I went to a rap concert and got irresponsibly intoxicated, particularly for a Tuesday. Spent this morning's 9:30 class gazing around in a vague manner and trying not to spew all over the petite Hawaiian girl seated beside me. That being said, the concert was wonderful, really excellent. The crowd ranged from a 50-ish conservative looking woman seated by the bar with a bottle of Stella, to a lone fellow in the corner, hood pulled up, head lowered, performing a series of complex footsteps even when the music stopped. Douchebags and miniskirts were at a minimum, everyone seemed stoked and most people were dancing.

By the by, this is a photograph of a badass rock. If my face looks puffy and swollen, it's due to the fact that I had previously burst into tears at the sight of the cliffs we were told to scramble over.

Word on the street is that we will soon be acquiring stickbugs. Stay tuned.

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