F*ck the Winter Blahs!

Happy light, vaseline, tissues, wine, blankets and lots of friends. These are the key ingredients for? NO, not that, you dirty little f*cker! This is what helps crush the winter blahs! Every January, I gleefully ‘X’ the days off the calendar, fantasizing about the arrival of spring. I also daydream about having that second home on the coast of La Jolla and private jet flown by Channing Tatum to whisk me off for the first quarter of the year…but I’m not quite there yet. So this year, I hosted my first annual “F*ck the January Blahs Party” and found many of my amigos were suffering from the same ailments (not all, some have wisely relocated to Miami, San Diego and Maui).

Last weekend, over 70 people made their way to our place on the upper, upper west side, armed with bottles of booze and obvious relief that there was something to do on a Friday night. I rolled out my childhood faves — Hungry, Hungry Hippos and Operation. And as I predicted, the more my guests imbibed, the more they wanted to play. Early in the evening, it began to snow lightly, and I worried I would be stood up, but no one bailed, and the place was pumping.

F*ck the Winter Blahs!IMG_2765IMG_2753Party People

J. got to show off all his custom painting and even Cozi was a party dog, setting his sights on our friend Michael and showing his affection by humping his leg. He never does that! The festivities began at 8pm and we kicked our last guest out the door at 5am — we still know how to throw a party!

Hungry, Hungry HipposThe Fulton GirlsKidnapping my Dog!

The next morning J. and I huddled under the covers with egg sandwiches, a bottle of Aleve and a bottle of water, looking at the pictures (the best part)…already trying to plan our next shindig. We’re all in this together (meaning, this sh*tty weather). So when possible, fight the urge to sleep in and watch the last season of Homeland. Be social.  Isolation will lead to nothing more than bags of empty Cheetos and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrappers scattered on your floor and another 10 lbs. on your ass!

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day, pray that little furry dude does not see his shadow!

Chubby Groundhog

I’ve Become the Third Wheel

Mastiff takes over

If I get up to pee in the middle of the night, I usually come back to find an imposter’s massive head smooshed into my foam pillow. His snores sound like that of a 90-year-old man as he stretches his legs and gives me a sharp kick, not letting me back in. “Doggy bed, now!” I direct as he whimpers.  J. doesn’t even notice there’s been a change of guard and thinks it’s me spooning him, when it’s really Cosimo, our 130 lb. pup.

I can’t help feeling that I’ve become the third wheel. Cosi is real competition. He licks J’s elbows in the morning (not my thing), waits outside the door while he’s in the shower (I got things to do),  looks at him with big eyes like everything he says is fascinating (I’ve already heard that story a 100x), doesn’t fight with him over the remote (I hate Tosh. O!) and wags his tail like no other (I try shaking my bootie in response).

Cosimo is obsessed with my boyfriend. He paces when J’s not home, then practically knocks him down the stairs when he walks in. He reminds me of that matted stuffed animal that followed Mark Wahlberg around in TED. They sit on the couch together, watch the Simpsons, share chicken fingers, drink beers, dogcall at other hounds out the window. The testosterone is over-flowing in this apartment…and the bros are both constantly thumping their chests and smacking paws.

J. recently sent his whole family an email titled, “Me and My Best Friend”. Opening it, I expected to see some photos of us from Hawaii, the Catskills, but no,  it was J. and Cosi swimming in the pool, J. and Cosi rolling around in the grass…J. and Cosi both yawning. Waaat?? The beast has bested me.

I don’t get it. I don’t need to be taken out for walks. I don’t piss a gallon and then step in it, making doggie pee-pee prints for half a block. I don’t drool while J’s eating and then wipe my mouth on his pants. I don’t lick my balls.  I don’t shed making his black peacoat resemble a fur jacket and most importantly — I don’t clear out the room with my doggie bombs.

So Cosi, my Cane Corso rival, watch your furry butt, it’s on! I know your tricks and I have some of my own…

You’ve Been Replaced

J., there’s someone else. It’s just that you’ve been working so much lately, and I know it’s for “Us”, but I’ve been at home alone, and I was missing you and…

He’s been there all this time…waiting…waiting for the chance to step in. Always listening to me intently with unabated curiosity and a raised brow. Everything I say to him is worthy of his attention (unless he’s eating).  He flirts and bats his lashes my way and breathes hot, heavy steamy kisses in my ear while murmuring sweet sounds. He licks my neck — REALLY licks it. He hates it when I cry, when I pace and he hates it even more when I yell.

I feel safe when I clutch on to his broad, muscular chest, thick neck and am temporarily blinded when he flashes his sparkling, killer set of teeth my way. If anyone stares at me a second too long, he will bite their f*ckin head off! And that makes me feel really desirable, especially the way he protectively leaps in front of me backing his butt into my knees.

So maybe it’s time you move to the spare room upstairs and just let us be. I’d like him to cuddle with me for more than nap time or those five minutes in the dead of night when you run to the bathroom. He’s not a bed-warmer, he’s my baby.

Bet you never thought you’d have to worry about THIS Italian stud. What do you think my mom will think if I marry a mastiff? Yeah, as long as I get married, she won’t care…and I’ve done a little research (it’s legal in Bali), and don’t worry you’re totally invited to the wedding, who did you think was going to give me away?

http://www.pleated-jeans.com/2010/07/06/how-to-marry-your-pet/