What happens at the kennel stays at the kennel

Attention, burglars: we'll be out of town for Mardi Gras this year. So, I had to make reservations at the dogtel for Clooney. Until dogs are allowed on cruises, he is relegated to shore. Holland America does not like the idea of dog poo on their decks, I guess.

Clooney has traditionally stayed at the vet's office. However, when we pick him up, it always seems like he's been on a terrible bender: he's got nasty junk in his eyes, and he smells like his own pee, and basically I feel like I'm picking him up in the middle of the worst hangover of his life.

I just can't get behind that. I feel terrible that he's been spending an entire day barking his head off while trapped in a little crate. It's unpleasant. And maybe it's not his pee that he smells of--maybe it's from the crate above him--and that's just wrong. NOBODY (except those freaks on HBO) want to be pee'd on without consent. That's just gross.

So, I ask around for suggestions. Of course, CC has a dog. And CC's dog stays at the pet motel. I call the pet motel, and they offer 2 services: Indoor/Outdoor facility and suites.

First, their Indoor/Outdoor option is nearly 2x as much money as the vet's rent-a-box. But, pweshus wittle cwoonsey will get his own bed, and a doggie door to the outside whenever he wants/needs to go. Seems humane. The indoors are heated and cooled to 72 degrees. Which is good, since he gets cold easily.

The Dog Suite option cracks me up. It is more than 3x the vet's rent-a-box, but get this--features human day bed, real plasma TV, and a phone jack with speaker phone so that humans can check on their canine campers. This option provides same doggie door access to the outdoors and 4x/day human interaction.

First of all, if I'm the human interactor, I'm a little bitter that the dog is livin' in the lap o' luxury and I'm wearing doggie themed scrubs and am picking up his crap. Maybe the tech just goes in and watches TV with the dog. Maybe there's playtime. Who knows? It's a freaking dog.

But, then I got to thinking that maybe there's doggie pay per view. Wouldn't it be hilarious if you go to check out Rover and he's run up a HUGE ppv bill? A combination of bad animal flicks like The Chipmunks (a movie about potential food items) and Marmaduke (a buddy flick) and Marley and Me (a doggie tearjerker) and Dog PORN?!?

I love it. I could sit here all day and think of dog porn movie titles, but for G rated purposes, one is already an ACTUAL movie "Cats and Dogs 2: The Revenge of Kitty Galore." Imagine Rover guiltily looking out the window to see if anyone's watching, stepping on the red button on the remote that looks like a tail, and kickin' back with a rawhide treat watching some doggie love.

I googled dog sex, to see if I could find something humorous to post to this article, but now simply just want to wash my eyes. I did find this, however, which tickles my funny bone:

Yes, that is a white fluffy dog humping a doggie sex toy. Again, I find myself imagining the human being working for the company that makes these toys. Picture a Chinese factory worker, getting paid some horrifyingly small amount to make these dogs. "I wonder where these beautiful toys wind up," he asks himself. "Perhaps they are toys for wonderfully happy children." "Or maybe, they are virtual companions for disabled people."

Nope, Sorry. The toxic fumes you inhale every day which are probably going to kill you, Xi, for which you are chained to the assembly line and get paid a nickel and a half per day under inhumane conditions with repetitive motion and no light is to build a toy for Americans' dogs to hump. Bummer.

ANYPOODLES, poor Clooney The Mistreated is getting basic services only. No sex doll, no cable porn. He's just gonna have to ogle the chihuahua in the dog run next door.

Exercise for the body and mind

Yah. I hear ya. Send all complaints in the form of compliments, and I might respond. If you have no complaints, you're not human.

So, it's been a while. Like 3 weeks. I know. I've been sublimating all of my creative energy into working out. It sounds stupid, but it's not. I have to get up and force my body to do one thing each day...type and be funny OR run like there's a mean dude chasin' me. Lately, the latter.

If only blogging burned more calories. I need jlogging...a healthful combination of blogging and jogging. Can you imagine how fiercely slim I would be if I burned calories being bitchy? Holy cow.

So, in the vein of burning calories, CC invited me to a Pilates class at her studio. CC was actually taking the class as well. But the thing is, CC doesn't understand the TREMENDOUS pressure (for some one like me) involved in going out to exercise.

First, there is the outfit. Flattering. (There goes half the closet) Exercise sensible (There goes 49.5% more). Fortunately, my very supportive Valentine bought me workout clothes for the upcoming chocolate fest of a holiday. So, outfit in place.

Hair? Certainly no washing, but it can't look bedraggled. There will be SPRING HILL MOMS THERE! Low pony with headband.

Face? Nice washing and waterproof mascara. I don't want the tears to leave pathetic black smears down my cheeks.

There are people there, man. They might be watching me. I might fart with exertion. I might fall over while standing. I might cry a little. ALL KINDS OF THINGS CAN GO WRONG.

In all, of course, the class was challenging and invigorating and positive, especially since I have been working so hard at home. I could tell a HUGE difference since last summer when I took my first class, and that is after just about a month of work.

Back to CC, though. It's not that she doesn't understand the pressure, it's just that she doesn't relate. So, in order to help my dear friend understand the mental stamina involved in heading to a pilates class in public, I create the following scenario:

Imagine I have invited you to a convention of crossword puzzle afficianados. Now, imagine ALL of them have a New York Times Saturday puzzle in front of them. They all do the puzzle regularly, so they already know words like ORT and RIV and all the other obscure crossword-only words.
Now, they give YOU the puzzle.
And ask you to solve it.
In front of everyone.
In a fat suit.

Which is exactly what going to Pilates class is like. It was good for me. I'm better off for having gone. But for a while, there, I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide, like a nine letter North American Dasypodidae.