The dog might have an Amazon account

We have had a strong suspicion that Tilly has her own Amazon account because she keeps showing up with new toys that no one remembers buying. Every time we throw something out something new shows up within hours. This began as a running joke about the sheer amount of shite in our house and the fact that the mutt doesn’t even get upset when a favorite plaything goes down because there was something else she had her eye on anyway.

We know that the first couple came from deepest darkest middle child room where few people and pets dare to venture. After plugging that leak which consisted of moving the stuffed creature pile up and out of reach we thought the problem was solved. But the next day the dam dog came trotting downstairs with something brand new in her mouth and the online shopping theory was born.

Matilda (Tilly because that’s what her crazy ass looks like) had a rough beginning. I think I wrote about this before but for the sake of making sense I will reiterate. She was found trapped under a fence as a puppy abandoned by her mother in a storm. Not sure how long she was stuck there but it was long enough to lose too much weight and get all kinds of sick from consuming her own waste to stay alive. When they freed her from the fence big patches of skin and hair were missing all over her body.

So naturally when my wife went to the adoption event she was drawn to the puppy that no one wanted to touch. I was not there because our good and level-headed friend was along for the ride and they were “just looking.” When she came back with the dog I wasnt really shocked but we had agreed on something small. We already have one big white shedding machine in the house and no one needs more than one of those. Anyway, back to the not-as-pretty-but-has-a-good-personality step sister.

So this is what she looked like after a week with us.

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Most of the hair was filled in except on her tail and ears where the fence really dug in. I was a bit suspicious about her being a toy breed because she had some pretty big paws for a tiny dog. I’ll show you what her crazy ass looks like today but getting a picture of the side of her body while she’s standing still is close to impossible because she thinks my phone is food.

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And here they both are a little more than a year later. By the way, if you thought I was kidding about the phone being food… this is the two of them after I called and I’m just holding the thousand dollar pocket computer. Now she is a long drawn out mishmash of a thing and this picture actually makes her look better than real life. From the side she slightly resembles the cartoon my kids used to watch called catdog. My wife had her DNA rested and she is eight breeds rolled into one but none really sticks out.

She has pronounced cowlicks on the sides of her neck that we call gills and when she stands and walks on her hind legs she resembles a monkey. I’m writing this because as we get ready to host Thanksgiving I threw away a couple of the rough ones and she just came into my office with something new. On the off-chance that she does have an Amazon account I told her I would love one of the new iPad Pros. Worth a shot…

 

Viewer Mailbag

First up was a question sent to an email I forgot I had me at stupidtom dot com. The user didn’t identify themselves but they must have been around at least five years ago because that is the last time I got a message to that address. Anyway, A. Fan wrote in asking why the pictures on the really old posts weren’t working and before I could answer I had to make sure that was a thing. Yup, all of the photos in posts before 2015 are broken links. I’m sure there is some internet technonerdery explanation but a quick search tells me its all my fault.

As I picked up my toys and moved all around the Internets I kept posting to places I am no longer a part of which breaks the links to the pics. I will do my best to recover the ones I can figure out but this is going to be a long drawn out whenever I feel like it because I have to edit each individual post and then try to guess which picture I”m talking about followed by a search for said same project. In other news I think I just broke my personal run on sentence record so I’ve got that going for me.

Another reader wrote in about two weeks ago (shut up already, no one promised speedy responses to your enquiries) asking about the name stupidtom.com. I have to be honest, the story isn’t that good. It was right around the time when the internet was an infant. Domain name squatters were gathering up all the good names and some Chinese fella or corporation had already snapped up tom.com so I went in search of some other snappy rhyming variation and here we sit.

I almost had it sold about ten years back to a band in the UK called stupidtom for a couple hundred dollars which represented everything I’d paid for the site to that point and a real name liner note acknowledgement in their CD. It wasnt the money so much but I didn’t want to just give it away. But as fate and the music industry would have it the band broke up before we could close the deal. And so ends the reading and answering of the mail.

p i double s e d

I am as salty as the Dead Sea today and am having trouble shaking it off. We went to a surprise birthday party in the hood last night and this mood is a direct result. For a number of years I had the tag line “the only form of therapy I can afford” for this site and that is exactly what I am using it for right now. Before I begin the party was a lovely affair complete with relatives from all over and cute octogenarian elderly.

Things began in a bumpy place as I went in search of a beer but the cooler was filled with undrinkables. A dude that I had never met before asked if I was looking for a particular brand and when I mentioned Diet Coors I got a distinct beer shame vibe. He pointed to the location and when I got there they were arranged on the table without an ice cube in sight.

I am not as soft as this seems so I cracked open a warm one and took some more over to the ice. The dude mumbled something about not thinking anyone really drank blah blah boring beer douche. After the second luke warm can I switched over to big boy drinks while I waited for the cooling to take place. This is neither here nor there but by the time we left the party I was on a nice little roll.

At a point just before we left my wife was trying to scrape another guest off on me but I wasn’t having it. The exchange felt weird because I had already done my time with this ghost from the neighborhood past. This particular idiot used to live in our hood and was loosely affiliated with our friend group. They moved away to build a much bigger house. His wife is a lovely individual and the ladies were sad to see her go. The dudes were not really upset at all.

Anyhow, time passed, he cheated, they got divorced, no more shits were given. Then last night as we were walking to the car I asked why she tried so hard to scrape him off on me. Turns out that just before the scraping attempt this fella told my wife that he had always had a big crush on her but please don’t tell Tom because he will kill me. I wanted to go back in and chat but the cooler head in the car that wanted to go home prevailed.

I was going to bounce right back after dropping her off but was reminded about the hosts being upset not to mention all of the relatives etc. My friends would have been entertained but pretty much everyone else would have been pissed. I get it, bleeding guy with the broken nose gets all the sympathy. I explained that I could ask him to go outside before we talked but was convinced he probably would not follow. So, faced with a potential birthday party ruin, I stayed put.

I was so pissed I could not sleep… Turning this over in my brain like a psychopath, Obsessing over his end game. I’m sure that line has worked for him at some point but I have a burning need to explain that words can sometimes have physical consequences.

If you are thinking I’m better than that you couldn’t be more wrong. I have a self-flipping-bitch-switch that is currently set on revenge. Pair that with the memory of an elephant and you can make sure that a discussion will take place. My wife is going to be so pissed when this goes down but I feel like an olden times guy who took a glove to the face.

For those keeping score at home this did not help at all. Still pissed but this will be the last time I write about it until the court proceedings are complete.

on tilt

I am in the midst of One of Those Days where the line between calm and triggered is razor-thin. I know it’s all me because in my various interactions so far I am the only constant but it doesn’t take the scientific method to figure out that I am the asshat in the room.

Part of this is the past two weeks on the road with only a single days break in between. The first was a solid week of teaching which means good mood and game face every day. These people pay a lot of money to have me out and they deserve no less than my best shot. I caught a mild case of food poisoning halfway through that trip but once again that had nothing to do with the business that contracted my services so I just had to suck it up, literally, and finish strong.

I do this corny thing every morning when I’m on the road but for some reason I’m hesitant to write about it here. Screw it, very few folks read this crap anyway and I have a high embarrassment tolerance anyway… (how about you delay a little more high tolerance guy)

So I tell myself every morning before I leave the hotel room that I’m going to have a great day. I say it in the mirror over and over until I believe it. Some times it’s a one shot deal other days like last week might take a half-dozen or so. For those old enough to remember Stuart Smalley from Saturday night live it’s a harsher, shorter, and more meant to knock me out of whatever petty worry is currently consuming my brain cycles. Dumb as it sounds it works.

This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I am laughing at myself every time I do it but what the hell. I don’t do this at home because this is my happy place. My office is truly one of my favorite spaces on the planet and I don’t find a need to gear up when I’m here. Except this morning.

Now that I’ve typed about it there is no way I’m searching out a mirror just to try to turn this tugboat around. And speaking of mirrors (approacheth the segue king) Anyone who maintains fancy facial hair for long is an asshole. This crazy long moustache is really getting on my nerves. I wake up to one side or another sticking straight out of my face. If I don’t plaster it down with some product or another it keeps finding a way into my mouth. Add to that the fact that it keeps showing up in my peripheral vision and the clock is ticking on this thing.

It’s too bad because it makes me laugh every time I see a reflection but it doesn’t grow away from my lips and into a villain curl all by itself. Probably kissing this thing goodbye (pun not intended but welcomed none the less) tonight as I have had all I can stands and I can’t stands no more.