How to Ruin Someone Else's Day While Still Providing Amusement

Today, I decided to go onto my balcony area and relax.    I took a good book and intended to read and get some sun.  This isn’t what happened.  Instead, I had to vacate the balcony in a fit of giggles and odorous vapors.

Here is the set up.

I live on the third floor of my apartment complex which is beside a marshy pond area and a huge farm—and my room is the one on the corner, so from my balcony, I have an uninhibited view.  It’s one of the best views in Columbia—at least I think so.

Today was a B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L day.  Not too hot.  Not too cold.  Not too windy.  Not too humid.  Gorgeous.  So who wouldn’t want to go out onto the balcony and enjoy the day with a good book?

Now, it’s a good thing that I have a sense of humor, or I might have been slightly upset by the disturbance to my relaxation.  Instead, I couldn’t stop laughing.

After sprawling myself out on one of the chairs outside, I began reading my book.

Then, just as I got comfortable, I heard someone from the room under me come outside onto his/her balcony.

*face blurred to protect my unknown neighbor*

I’m not stingy.  I don’t mind sharing my perfect day with another person.  However, that was until I learned the downstairs neighbor’s intent.  As soon as I heard their balcony door close, they let one rip.  I guess they didn’t realize I was upstairs.

Now let me explain.  It wasn’t just a small toot.  Oh, no.  It was a horrible, wet, squishy fart.

I tried to suppress my laughter—as the person downstairs obviously went out onto the balcony to hide the fart from his/her roommates; however, when the toxic fumes reached me, I could barely contain it.

I ran back inside my apartment and fell onto the floor in a fit of giggles.  I really hope the person downstairs didn’t hear my laughter, but I tend to laugh whole-heartedly.  As people who know will attest, my laughter can get extremely loud and out of control. 

And this was one of those occasions.

I’m sorry downstairs neighbor—but even though you destroyed my plans for the day, you also made my day with your impromptu fart.  Therefore—thank you... I guess.

Like Florence and the Machine, I Wish the Dog Days Were Over

As I type these words, I am currently watching a dog show up in Greenville, SC.  My mom is a dog breeder, and she really wanted to come, so I agreed to go with her. 

I have spent the majority of my life surrounded by hundreds of dogs of all different varieties, but I’ve never attended (as far as I can recall) an event like this.

Here is what I’ve learned—dog people, at least of the top show dog quality, are freaks.  I’m not even watching the dogs anymore.  Their owners are far funnier. 

Let me explain.  The first thing my mother wanted to do was to walk around to all of the booths to look at the current trends and accessories in dog fashion, jewelry, food, hairstyles, chew toys, etc…

My favorite among these was the Thundershirt.  Which may sound extremely awesome, but the image that came along with this piece of dog fashion was greatly amusing.  The Thundershirt is supposed to fit snuggly around a dog causing them to behave in a complacent matter.  No more excess barking, leash pulling, or anxiety.

Of course the dog is going to behave complacently…they can’t move.  And as for barking, how can you bark when you can’t breathe?

They should just advertise the Thundershirt for what it really is—a straight jacket for dogs.

Besides on the back of the box, it said that similar pressure wraps had been used on people with autism.

I didn't know whether to be shocked and appalled or to give the dog people credit.  Afterall, humanity has so many issues with product testing done on animals that its rather ridiculous to think that some dog products are tested on humans.

Secondly, a dog show is the only place that I’ve ever heard where people can walk around and say things like, “What an ugly bitch.” “Who let that bitch in here?” or “I bet every male in this place wants to jump that bitch.”

Every time someone said it I started snickering.  I couldn’t help it.  Why can’t they just say female.  I have a theory, and I'll share it.

Dog people secretly enjoy calling their opponents bitches.

Think about it.  If you could call pretty much everyone you hated a bitch without repercussions, wouldn’t that feel wonderful?

Another thing I noticed was that the breeders began to empathize too readily with the dogs.  So much so that some of them took on doggy qualities without seeming to notice.

There was one breeder who placed a treat in front of her dog, and then as soon as the dog got a good bite out of the treat, she took it away from the dog and ate it herself.

She.  Ate.  The.  Dog.  Treat.

All I could think of was the scene in Lady and the Tramp where the two dogs share a plate of spaghetti.  But there really isn’t a comparison.  Lady and the Tramp had far superior tastes.

At least in the relationship between the breeder and the dog, its easy to spot the “female”—it's the dumb bitch.

And the final thing that sent me into hysterics were the ladies who couldn’t distinguish between their dogs and their children.   I saw a lady walking her daughter around the ring on a leash.  Really? REALLY? 

Let the judge examine her teeth and walk her around the ring one more time.  Then, who knows, your daughter may just win best in show. 

And I really hope that you haven’t spayed and neutered your daughter any more than your psychotic parenting already has.

I really do feel bad for the daughter.  She’s probably going to grow up believing that she’s a Chihuahua or Saint Bernard or Weimaraner or whatever obscure breed of dog her mother shows.

I’m just glad my mother never treated me like a dog in any capacity.  Now excuse me—I have to go.  My mom wants me to “fetch” her another brochure.