My dog (or my mother’s dog, if you want to get technical about it) is at my loft for the next two days. And while I love him, and I used to spend all the time with him, my mother and sister’s general neglect for his overall happiness and well being has, seemingly, turned him into some vicious little monster. Thus far, he has caused my elderly, and I mean very elderly, bunny to almost have a hernia while reaching speeds of what seemed like 25 km/h. We also headed over to Trinity Bellwoods today, because that’s Zach’s favourite park. He used to live me once upon a time ago, and we would, quite literally, head to Bellwoods 3 times a day. He doesn’t exactly have the greatest bladder control.
But I digress, today at Bellwoods, four girls (which I saw out of the corner of my eye or otherwise) checked me out, either that or couldn’t stop staring while they tried to get their head around the fact that someone would exit their home in such a ridiculous get up as the one I was sporting, all of the four (which I was aware of) were consequently turned off by my maniac dog barking at them. The thing is, Zach is half pomeranian. So he’s around a foot tall, but when he gets going, he goes for one of two things, the first of which being the jugular, the second of which being your eardrums. He is very good at attacking both in ways you won’t soon forget about. So there go my chances (because clearly had he not barked I would’ve gotten everyone’s numbers…).
Speaking of getting people’s numbers, yesterday I was at the Fetish Festival on Church. Which I stumbled upon while I was going my 15 km timed ride around the city, and since I figured that fetish festivals=nympho’s, I grabbed my number one wingman Matthew Gray, and took it to the streets. We were in Slack’s, I was checking out the crowd, and he was making googoo eyes at the bartender, when he made me a bet. This isn’t verbatim, but I will use quotations none the less:
Matthew: “Lauren, if you don’t pick up a hot chick here, you’re buying me a round of drinks!”
Lauren: “A round of drinks implies I’m buying drinks for more than one person, way to go.”
I agreed to his little “bet”, ignoring the fact that the bet was, all in all, poorly phrased. And I started to take it seriously, once I realized I may have to shell out $4 for a beer he probably won’t finish, when who calls? My sister. Saying she’s coming over, and she’s bringing the dog. The bet was off, I went home alone, and she ended up staying at my mom’s either way. What a bogus fetish festival.
On the bright side, I pondered what my fetish may be while I was at the bar, and I re-realized that I love women who ride bicycles so much that it must be a fetish. That’s right, if you are a woman of the bike riding variety, I am more likely than not attracted to you. Unless you have poor taste in shoes, than you are either voided, the only exception being if you ride a fixie that you built yourself… Hot.
(First posted: 18/08/08)