My Dog's Breath Smells Like Cat Food. Hey, Wait A Minute...

Belle is feeling better again. It turns out a dog's insides don't like being fed cat food for a week. Go figure.





Easy enough to mistake if you're not paying attention, which I guess nobody was when the bag was scooped from the garage, or while it was sitting in plain view on a kitchen table.

Celebrate With Cake

Last Sunday was Father's Day, of course. Us rotten kids got Dad a new barbecue, which brother Josh, Dad and I put together in the back yard during the afternoon. No eyebrows were singed in the process.

Friday was my sister's birthday. Josh and I accompanied her and friends on her first shopping trip to the liquor store. It's such a special event in a young lady's life, getting sauced, legally. After that, she and a few friends hung around the house for awhile. As usual, nothing big for a birthday.

Dad got her a CD by a group that sounds like the name of a P.I. from a long-running mattress commercial, and an Old "My commercials are gleefully awful" Navy gift card. I dipped into the small fortune that is my bank account, and got her a bag of chips. A super-sized bag, no less. Spared no expense. The bunch of us weird guys with which she co-habitates got her a card with humour of a gassy nature--a concept she's been reluctantly familiar with during her 19 years.

Bah Gawd, The Carnage!

Wanting to use up some 2-for-1 rental coupons before they expire at the end of the month, I got Burnout 3 again, and God of War. I've only played enough GoW to get my first glimpse of 3D pre-rendered and real-time video game boobs. My first game boobs period were probably courtesy of one of Diablo's baddies in Hell that inappropriately moan when killed, much to the dismay of your mother when she finds you still playing the game at 6AM. Or one of those puzzle games with a topless anime girl in the background, which I'm sure I played by "accident" in my earlier years. GoW's not a bad game at all, but as usual, one game's taking precedence, and that's Burnout. Road Raging around is just too much fun. And the Burning Laps with the F1 car are still way too crazy and difficult to attempt without wanting to huck something the first time you inevitably crash, and ruin your chance to get the gold medal time.

I Knew I'd Miss Jack & Bobby, But Not This Much

I had a couple of weird dreams last week. One had me dating Rory Gilmore in some kind of an urban Japanese setting. Lorelai was working in a small flower shop. I more or less got dumped when I heard one of Rory's friends talking on a cell phone about her being with another guy.

Another had me at a house party that gradually grew as the dream passed. Matthew Perry was my uncle Brad. Some guy was chugging pink cream soda, and trying not to vomit. My brother's friend's brother, and someone I went to school with, Jason Jeanveau, was telling me I'd gotten fat. And Matt Long from Jack & Bobby was in bed with a girl using a vibrator on himself. It couldn't have been Jessica Paré. Nope. That just wouldn't have been gay enough.

More Random Jibba-Jabba

Josh took his second driving test last Monday, and didn't pass again. I'm not sure what he's doing, because he's not a bad driver by any means. He just seems to make one or two mistakes over and over, until the examiner's sheet is full of Xs.

I got the RVD DVD this week from a guy on eBay. I got lucky with the price, because the auction ended right after the ECW Pay-Per-View, when most RVD fans probably would have just shelled out $35 to see him live.

If they haven't already, Bejeweled and Zuma will eat hours of your life.