I spent the weekend dog-sitting for a nice lesbian couple in Johnson City. Boy, did I learn a lot this weekend.
For instance:
A labrador retriever is almost the same thing as a musician. They are both cute, and sort of shaggy, and intelligent. They are both very cuddly and affectionate. The musician will be kind enough to let you bum cigarettes indefinitely. The lab will generously bring you his sloppy bones, in case you're jonesing for a nice chew. Both the musician and the lab will affectionately sit on you while you're watching a Lifetime movie and lounging on the couch; both will lick you, and both will look sort of dejected when you say, "ew! Get off me!" In either case, you'll feel sort of bad for not fully appreciating the love. The musician will slurp Ramen noodles. The lab will slurp everything. Both the musician and the lab know their names, but will answer to your call only if they feel like it. Both are irresistably cute; one is compelled to scratch both behind the ears, and rub both of their tummies. The lab will want to curl up and sleep next to you -- or on you. So will the musician. Both are fairly quiet, and you have to go by body language to understand the mood of either the lab or the musician. The musician likes to pace. The lab likes to romp around in circles.
[Norman just walked into the room as I'm typing. For the majority of the evening, he has been wearing a sock on one foot, and a sweatshirt on the other foot, a result of today being Norman's laundry day... I guess I'd better amend my little theory about labs and musicians: a lab will bring you a sock in his mouth. A musician will bring you a sweatshirt on his foot.]
I've come up with a few theories about lesbian parents, too.
Apparently, having lesbians as "moms" does not have any detrimental effects on the emotional or social states of two labrador retrievers. I actually thought a bit about this while I was dog-sitting. I was trying to see if the dogs were in any way underdeveloped, or if they'd acquired any abnormal or deviant behavior. You know, because people seem to think that if you live with lesbians, you're some sort of freak; I was trying to objectively judge whether this would be the case with the dogs. So far as I could tell, they were quite well-adjusted. I mean, except that the one wouldn't leave me alone until I let it sit on my chest. I think it thought it was the king of the mountain or something. All it did was sit there and pant once I let it sit there. But I think that was just a weird dog-thing, though.
And a few things I've learned about lesbians, too... You know the prevailing myth that lesbians are unfeminine? Hmph. A COMPLETE myth, if you're looking at these two ladies. What's really sad is that they had more hair-care products in their house than I would know what to do with. I mean this quite literally; I have no idea what the fuck to do with mousse. And yes, I do actually own a hair-dryer, but I haven't used it in a couple of years. The lesbians had longer hair than me.
Come to think of it, the one woman looked almost EXACTLY like the girl who lived next-door to me at the College of Santa Fe. Really, it was an eerie resemblance. They even had the same voice. And the same eyebrows. I kind of doubt they had the same coke-habit, but one never can be sure. I kept having this vision of the dog-owner collapsing in a hung-over, vomiting heap, and demanding that Brian carry her to the infirmary. THAT was scary. I couldn't look at the dog-owner again after that. I tried, but I giggled.
Was very tired upon arriving at the dogs' house. Had kind of a headache, too. Wrote a couple of bitchy emails -- hey why not! I was tired! -- and then decided to blame the whole incident on carbon monoxide poisoning. Checked the pilot lights on the stove and in the oven. They were all on. Damn. Still, I told the lesbian dog-owners that they might have a gas leak. It DID smell like gas, once I'd completely convinced myself I was suffering from a carbon monoxide emotional breakdown. Probably, the whole thing had more to do with the massive amounts of caffeine I'd been ingesting all week. And the very, very few hours of sleep I've gotten due to aforementioned caffeine.
Have I mentioned that Norman is currently wearing a sweatshirt around his ankle to keep his foot warm, because he only has one clean sock?
This is TOO weird. Adorable, but very, very weird.
Thanks to several generous offers this weekend, Helena now has enough money for two things: 1.) the fucking electric bill, and 2.) her tuition deposit at the Evergreen State College. Thus, Helena will not be powerless within the next month, and even if Helena DOES become powerless, for reasons as of now unforeseen, Helena can officially escape to Olympia in January, where, it is hoped, the Federal Government will pay for her power in her dorm room.
Helena hopes the person who lives next door to her in her dorm room at Evergreen doesn't have a coke habit. But she wouldn't mind if the person next door had a labrador retriever or two.
Helena is going to bed. Maybe she'll take a musician with her, for cuddling purposes.
~Helena*