If you're on The Weather Network and you accidentally stumbled across this post while looking for the definition of a cold front, start putting out resumes.
I come to this damn "coffee shop" or whatever it is most days.
The Weather Network is always airing on the unnecessary (yeah, I said it) TVs that are bolted to the walls, and I have never seen the same weather girl in front of a map consecutively.
It's a new woman each and every time.
Maybe this is a tactic of the network guys. They have meetings and say stuff like, "...but how do we keep it fresh? We need to draw new sponsors, and our climate doesn't change because we're in the same country each week."
"Well, viewers have been responding to our sexy weather women; they like their hips. So, how about a new weather woman for each broadcast?"
"Yes! Saturday Night Live does that and they've been on the air for decades! Disposable weather women! It should attract the disposable razor people--get someone from sales to contact them right away!"
Some, but not all oceans are full of oil.
So that's something.
The dog ran away.
"You don't mention me in the blog. You don't talk about how nice the dog is. You don't tell them about all of my pleasant qualities. Write about me in there!"
That's what Andie will say while brandishing the rolling pin, in her kerchief.
When she bakes bread it's terrifying.
That's a joke, she doesn't do any of that and we have a lovely time.
I checked on her while she was sleeping the other night (not necessary, but not a bad idea), and she sat bolt upright in bed going, "Are you festive!? Are you festive?!"
And I was all like, "What in the fuck are you talking about?"
"I had a dream that it was Christmastime and you told me that you weren't feeling festive."
Even in a dream, that would concern her. She's wonderful.
Anyway, the dog ran away.
Like most of us, when the weather is no longer retarded outside, Gabby is content to just sit and be outdoors while not being miserable.
I love this about the dog because, quite simply, she's up my ass all the time.
She's the most caring, gentle dog you could meet. I can plop her in front of a three-year old, and that kid'll be poking her in the eyeball and shouting in her ears and I don't have to worry at all because Gabby would never lash out.
She doesn't do that.
The reverse of that, however, is that she needs your affection, or my affection, or whoever's. Someone's affection. It doesn't matter who's petting her, so long as someone is doing that at all times.
The fish monger. Whoever. Anyone will do.
Luckily, I don't have a lot going on during the day, but it's nice to just have Gabby go be herself sometimes.
Not only is it a break for me (us), I think it's nice for the dog. Even dogs should want to be alone sometimes, no?
Anyway, I tied her up outside and I checked the knot.
Getting out of the shower I realized that the dog wasn't doing stuff and we were like, "Oh yeah, we tied her up."
The rope was there and the dog wasn't.
As quickly as that, the day turns into, "Oh shit, the dog's gone. That's bad."
I was totally cool at first because she's the only Basset Hound in town, everyone knows Dad, people see me walking her, it'll figure itself out.
However, we left her out there for an hour before noticing that she'd Houdini'd out of there.
How much of that hour had she spent off the farm?
How far can a dog designed for tracking stuff over long distances go in an hour?
That part was kinda worrying.
Andie was more concerned that the dog was dead in a ditch somewhere (also a possibility).
To deal with that, she kinda ran around the yard while sobbing, yelling "Gabby!" over and over again.
Andie and the dog are special friends. It was a scary thing.
In retrospect, I'm a little surprised at how together I was about it.
I'd much rather have the dog up my ass versus never seeing her again.
Anyway, my parents spotted her, lumbering in the middle of the street, directly in front of the yard she had left.
Perhaps that's another reason I was calm; how far would Gabby really be willing to go without us?
A cold front is defined as the leading edge of a cooler mass of air, replacing (at ground level) a warmer mass of air, which lies within a fairly sharp surface trough of low pressure.
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