Last weekend I had to stay in some one star accommodations. ONE FUCKING STAR. I have never seen anything like this. It all started with someone at Union Station accusing me of being a dog. All because I don’t have opposable thumbs. Plenty of people lack opposable thumbs, but for some reason this slack jawed yokel from PG County insisted that I couldn’t go on the train. I was going to my cousin’s wedding in Connecticut. Anyway, mom and dad found some accommodations though my doctor. While the food was my usual, the portion control was beyond absurd. I’m in good shape; I can run down a squirrel any day of the week. They didn’t give me any treats and the room was small and smelly. After a couple of days of being bitter, I have blocked out the experience. We’re not going to talk about it again. I am sure my therapist will bring it up, but I might have to have the guy clipped. Anyway, I looked up J & R's registry and sent them the nut cups they registered for. I thought it was a kind of ironic gift if you know what I am talking about.
Well, K & T finally took my advice and got a contractor to take care of their squirrel problem. I warned them that those little critters wouldn’t go away, but they didn’t listen. And just like I said, they came back. Finally, T agreed with my assessment of the situation and called
No, not that horrible 1980s mini-series, but real live houseguests. J & S came for a visit, they come a couple of times a year. J is a real smart ass, but since he usually scratches me, I let him slide on some of his antics. However, on Friday, he was particularly annoying. He called several times and I didn’t feel like answering the phone, they guy can talk forever, and the last thing I want is someone calling when I have the Yorkie Sisters over. Anyway, he keeps leaving messages on the answering machine, talking to me, saying the magic words like treat or greenie. Mean while I am sitting there thinking … dumbass, I can go downstairs and crack open a can of Olde Biscuit 800 when ever I want, I don’t need some wise guy from NYC to mess with my head.
Mom, Dad, J & S came home on Saturday night with a big bag from The Palm. I was slightly disappointed since usually my parents getting dressed up on a Saturday night and coming home with a bag means the Capitol Grille. Alas, The Palm would do. Dad left me a healthy bit of meat on the bone from his porterhouse. I was grateful and I enjoyed it, and I will enjoy the leftovers tonight. Once again, J tried to be a smartass and pull one over on me, but I know better. He said he had a bone in ribeye and that it wasn’t very good. First off, I have never heard of a bone in ribeye. Second, The Palm doesn’t serve shit. Third and lastly, I know the guy is an epic eater, he has more stomachs than cow and he probably just didn’t save me any. Heck, he probably had chicken or something else lame like that. Don’t worry J, I understand and I will remember this the next time you wanna share a greenie with me. I got your number buddy and I am coming for ya! Just wait till I get your kid finger paints or a drum set. A Yorkie Poo never forgets.
So that it, thats whats been keeping me busy.