Due to a shortage of questions and an overabundance of dog pictures, this week's advice column is kind of a mess. Or maybe just a jumble. Or even better, a potpurri of fragrant Amalah deliciousness.
If you hate it, it's your own damn fault for not sending me clever advice-type questions. The address is advice[at]amalah.com. Or amy[at]amalah.com. Or amalah[at]gmail.com. It really doesn't matter, because they all go to the same inbox, because I'm clever like that. Also sneaky and probably up to something.
Anyway, pick a damn address and send some damn questions for next week. Or no treats for you. Go in your crate and think about what you've done.
How my new meds are supposed to make me feel: Happy! Joy! Life is joyous and full of promise! Also bunnies and sunshine!
How my new meds actually make me feel: Lfjhdlfsodfu. Despair. Hate. Anfdlue. And also zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Oh Mighty Amalah,
My husband suggested that tonight we clean & organize our house. We live in a small apartment and it makes sense to keep clutter low. We both like a clean home and I was telling him yesterday how crowded it was starting to feel at home.
But Amalah, it is FRIDAY. It is the end of the week. I said yes to him, but I really don't want to do much (er, anything). I've worked all week. He's worked at home all week. I'm tired. He has energy. And it's FRIDAY. Hello? Friday? The day for which (and certainly on which) margaritas were made. Not that I'd have a margarita anyways, since I'm being "good", whatever the hell that means.
Why did I say yes? Why can't this be a Monday chore? Oh yeah, Mondays are bad enough. Okay, so a never chore? How about never? Help me, Amalah. It's Friday and I have a hot date with a cardboard box.
Stupid Organizing Yes-Person
And now it is Wednesday. Which means your advice came too late. Which kind of means there’s no point in me even GIVING advice. Which means I can sleep a little bit. Because DAYUM, I am tired.
I’m taking seven pills a day. That’s a lot. That’s like (stares at hands, tries to count) THIS MANY (holds up nine fingers, which is close enough). I should not give advice. I should not be at work. I should not DRIVE. I should not have eaten two Krispy Kremes this morning, particularly the one with the cream filling.
WHAT? Sorry. Head hit the keyboard there. Anyway. Back to your question.
Definitely do not agree to organize on a Friday night ever again. That is just wrong. Also stop with this “being good” nonsense and make yourself a damn margarita. Crank up some music, put on some cute men’s tighty-whiteys and one of his collared shirts and dance around with your drink. In 10 minutes your husband will declare you so totally adorable and realize that you are just too cute to be kept in on a Friday night. Or he will just want to sleep with you. Either way, it probably beats cleaning.
SOME RANDOM JOURNALCON LEFTOVERS:
Although Ceiba did pee on the carpet in their hotel room, so I guess maybe I owe them some Cheezits. Especially since we were all a little drunk and I thought that mopping up the pee with some Kleenex was adequate. I am sorry for this. I am also sorry for anyone who stays in room 610 at the Helix from now on, because you are totally going to be stepping in dog pee every time you leave the bathroom.
Because I am SURE the hotel steam cleans the carpet regularly. I am SURE.
I think that I may be a Snobby Whore. Is it wrong if I think I want to embrace it, rather than feel bad about it? I mean, I am practically the hottest chick on the internet (besides you, that is). You saw my boobs in that shirt. Hot!
I put my cats on Catster last week (catster.com). Is this venturing too far into Crazy Cat Lady territory? Or is this still in the realm of, "that's cute, and kind of cool"?
-Little Miss Hairball
I've got this half-marathon in 4 months that I'm theoretically training for. However, I'm too damn lazy to actually get off my ass and run. Can I employ the "if you can dream it, you can do it" school of thought here and finish the race in record time without actually running between now and then?
Look at Dawnie, monopolizing the advice column! But you know how many other questions I got this week? ONE. Lazy bitches. So Dawnie gets to be treated like an Internet Rock Star and see her name in lights and get her questions answered to the delight of dozens.
1) Yes, I believe the Post-JCon Fingers of Drama were being pointed in your general direction, you snobby, snobby redheaded whore. But I would embrace it. I think it suits you. Like that one shirt you borrowed that was all about the cleavage. You should have stolen that shirt.
But which is worse, getting called a snobby whore or having your poor, defenseless rat dog get called a seizing, brown, bald hamster with taped ears? (Trance: I kid! I love! It’s all okay! But still! Wah.)
2) You are The Crazy. Yes. Max is not on Catster and Ceiba is not on Dogster. Possibly because they’ve caught a bit of the Snobby Whore from me. Or because Ceiba actually belongs on Hamsterstererer.com instead. HA!
3) Yes. You should also drink more and eat more Cheezits and then just buy a pair of really cute and complicated running shoes. They will basically run the race for you. And then also never sign up for shit like that again, because it is also The Crazy.
Speaking of Ceiba, we took the bandages off her ears. I’d had enough of them. It was the most traumatic thing I have ever done. This ear clipping business? Wrong. Must end. To knowingly put a puppy through that? Evil. Should take a rolled-up newspaper to your hind end and beat the shit out you.
Anyway. Her ears still don’t look like they’re “supposed” to, but I’d be damned if I was going to re-tape them and then fucking RIP TAPE AND STICKY FOAM OFF MY PUPPY’S EAR HAIR EVER AGAIN. So blah. This is Ceiba now. She’s goofy and floppy.
Will someone please, please write this memo for me? It's very, very important, and I have no idea what to do except copy and paste the VP's original email and expand on that. Is that cheating?
Loave and Heifers,
Downward Spiral Hussy Whore
No. And also yes. Enjoy those Cheezits, bitch.
LIVE ON PAY-PER-VIEW: MAX VS. CEIBA
It's getting better. Max is not stepping up with the alpha-male shit and Ceiba won't stop with the "play with me! play with me! hi! hi! hello! play with me!"-bouncy shit, so we still have a long way to go. But there's been some progress.
Max: What the fuck are you doing here? This is my lap, you skinny bitch.
Ceiba: Ears itch. Will peee cAt. Buzz!
Max: Your mother was a hamster!
Max: Okay, I'll take him down, you go after the girl with the camera. Then we shall rule all!
Ceiba: Sleep. Zzz. Play wiTH socks! yay for Baby!
Max: God I hate you.
Max: Don't you let that Taco Bell dog get any closer.
Ceiba: Where food? Nap. ThEN poop.
Max: Well, okay. I'm pretty tired.