the smell of my desperation has become a stench

The Sacrifices I Make For That Dog

Yesterday I took Chuck on our daily trip to the local dog park, a sprawling field in the middle of the city covered in sickly patches of grass and gurgling flows of mud that resemble stomach fluid more than anything muddy. It’s become his favorite place on earth, second only to the bed in the guest room I recently and idiotically covered in white linens. I don’t mind the dog park or the daily baby-wipe scrub down I have to give him whenever we return, as long as he gets to run and play and sniff a goodly amount of ass.

What I do mind, however, are the inevitable awkward conversations I have to have with some of the other dog owners. Note that I said some and not all of the other dog owners, because I’m not that big of a snob that I think all dog owners are annoying. In fact, I think most dog owners are like many Mormons, perfectly normal and cool despite their raving fanaticism.

It’s just that there are always one or two insane people who make the daily dog park outing about as comfortable as barbed wire panties. Like that guy yesterday, an owner of two gigantic hairy canine monsters — Glen, a purebred 150lb German Shepherd, and Livet, a purebred Rodent of Unusual Size — who was wearing black Teva sandals, royal blue sweat pants that hit him mid-calf, and a faded red Van Halen t-shirt. And really, it’s not his fashion sense that bothered me, nor was it the fact that his hair was styled in its own natural pomade. I just wasn’t feeling social yesterday, and nothing I said or did could convince him to leave me alone, including the usual fail-safe method of breaking out my Martha Stewart Living.

You have to wonder, who wants to strike up a conversation with someone who is the type of person that reads Martha Stewart Living? Did he really think that I would have anything interesting to say having just eagerly devoured a carefully layed-out essay about collecting 20th-century lustreware? I tried flashing my wedding band back and forth vigorously as I turned the pages between Flower of the Month and Dessert of the Month — which I CAN’T WAIT to try out — but he continued to talk about his “mee-maw” who makes great peach cobbler, and about his neighbor, Paul, who apparently has an amazing collection of lead pipes, but I won’t believe that until I see it.

After several brutal silences he finally gave into his urges and asked me what he must have been dying to ask me for the entire conversation: “Do you like golf?” And maybe there’s just something in the air this week, and I’m sure I’m going to get so much shit for this because the guy is probably a minimum-wage slave and I need to have more respect for humanity, but I promptly told him that golf is for pussies.

That seemed to work because he finally did an about-face and scooted away from me, which he couldn’t have done a moment too soon because I was just about to start reading this month’s article on button crafts. And really, if there’s one thing that I need to know to survive in Utah, it’s how to transform a simple linen tablecloth with eye-catching button embroidery.

  • Beerzie Boy

    2003/05/15 at 2:35 pm

    Smackdowns on Golf Geeks are ALWAYS good.

  • kym

    2003/05/15 at 2:37 pm

    Wait until you have kids. It only gets worse. 🙂

  • Jay

    2003/05/15 at 3:01 pm

    In my imaginary conclusion to this story, the golf pussy guy is actually married to the telemarketer cunt lady.

  • the propagandist

    2003/05/15 at 3:07 pm

    funny, i’m usually too busy promising to pay vet bills to ever get to my IS martha stewart living article on how to conceal illicit stock profits within various household items…

  • Naaman

    2003/05/15 at 3:22 pm

    Poor Chuck.

  • xtimu

    2003/05/15 at 3:40 pm

    Maybe if you stop warshing your hair & start wearing those mee-maw housecoats you can rid of those irritating trailer guys by just lifting your arm and pointing downwind.

    Good luck! Utah — just like LA & the rest of this Bush voting G-D forsaken country — is the home a phreakin unwashed masses & lunatics.

  • Artemesia

    2003/05/15 at 3:42 pm

    “, I don’t think they exist …”

    One of my favorite movies, thanks for reminding me!

  • eddeaux

    2003/05/15 at 3:45 pm

    I love martha stewart- on my site, I have a “things I hate to admit” section and it says- I read Martha Stewart Living- any self-respecting man of 295 pounds would not admit to this, but hey- I have no self-respect.

    Love the Martha, Love the Button Crafts- love everything.

  • antisocial diva

    2003/05/15 at 3:59 pm

    what’s the recipe for?

  • certified

    2003/05/15 at 4:03 pm

    Damn that’s a good one. Was the guy shirtless? You forgot to mention the shirt. Dammit.

  • Xanthan

    2003/05/15 at 4:33 pm

    Ouch… my tummy hurts from laughing so hard.

    Can’t wait to read who gets the next gynocolically inspired epithet hurled in their direction. Have fun storming the castle, Dooce.

  • Allan

    2003/05/15 at 4:44 pm

    What? No pictures of Chuck frollicking in the stomach fluid looking mud?

    I’m disappointed.

  • Allan (Again)

    2003/05/15 at 4:48 pm

    One more thing.

    Just saw your “Feeling Guilty:” entry for today.

    Ain’t WiFi GREAT!

    And don’t feel guilty. You are not alone.

  • Erica

    2003/05/15 at 4:54 pm

    People actually say “mee-maw”? I thought that was just the crazy “full of grace” grandma from Pecker.

  • bill

    2003/05/15 at 5:01 pm

    Kolob. Well golly, that’s what that weird logo was on the back of all those Osmond records.

    Dooce, you have solved a 25-year-old mystery. I gotta go call my sister now.

  • da

    2003/05/15 at 5:02 pm

    what is it about magazines that say to a potential intruder, “go ahead, he’s not busy, it’s just a garden magazine, begin talking”. whereas a book, esp. a nice thick one says: stay the fuck away you fuckity fuck.

  • April

    2003/05/15 at 5:11 pm

    I’m still stuck (no pun intended) on “barb wire panties.”

  • megchem

    2003/05/15 at 6:47 pm

    LOL… dog does the same damn thing, the dirty bastard! And seriously wtf is up with the button issue? And your comment on golf….hehehe…well said, totally agree!

  • megchem

    2003/05/15 at 6:50 pm

    Oh yeah….and as a mom of a 6 year old….you are sooooo ready to attend pta socials, it is scarily (is that a word) similar to the dog park…

  • Scott

    2003/05/15 at 6:56 pm

    My dad’s sister’s grandchildren call her “mee-maw”. And they’re adults. It’s always annoyed me to no end.

  • kate

    2003/05/15 at 7:07 pm

    angel food cake, no?

  • LA Resident

    2003/05/15 at 7:22 pm

    I love anyone who uses “Rodent of Unusual Size” in a sentence. You have to be super cool.

    And, on another note, have you ever wondered why anyone thinks it is ANY OF THEIR FUCKING BUSINESS how you afforded your house? Really, get a fucking clue people and mind some of your own business.

    Congratulations on the new digs and the new life. You both really deserve it and no one needs to know how you pay for it. Or if you have a job. Sheesh. They are just jealous because you have a life.

  • w

    2003/05/15 at 7:49 pm

    martha stewart living is my guilty pleasure, dooce. that, and murder she wrote reruns. really.

  • eponymous

    2003/05/15 at 7:58 pm

    Excellent. The only thing worst than Tivo thinking I am gay is Amazon thinking that I am a breeder.

    My Amazon cred has gone to hell.

  • Summer

    2003/05/15 at 8:18 pm

    “Sniff a goodly amount of ass”. I must find a way to incorporate that into a conversation.

  • Katie

    2003/05/15 at 9:56 pm

    Weren’t those button crafts fabulous? (as Tina I’m sure) Hot damn!

  • the mighty jimbo

    2003/05/15 at 11:24 pm

    ya know, there are just terribly few days in which i get to sniff a goodly amount of ass.

  • cyn

    2003/05/16 at 4:32 am

    Rodents of Unusual Size! Princess Bride is one of my favorite movies! Twuuu Luvvv!

  • jonathan

    2003/05/16 at 4:49 am

    Great story dooce. Damn, damn funny.

  • Matt

    2003/05/16 at 5:20 am

    Amazing visuals, Dooce.

    …sickly patches of grass and gurgling flows of mud that resemble stomach fluid more than anything muddy.

    …about as comfortable as barbed wire panties.

    …his hair was styled in its own natural pomade.

    After several brutal silences…

    Your ability to bring these these experiences things to life through your awesome choice of words really pretty much just fills me with envy.

  • krotchbat

    2003/05/16 at 6:13 am

    LA Resident – shut yer yap.

  • the farkleberry

    2003/05/16 at 6:38 am

    “Golf Is For Pussies”…a sweet, sweet comeback! You must have that put on t-shirts, mugs, and bumperstickers: I will be the first to buy a batch. And thank you for confirming my long-held deep personal conviction that Super Target is indeed a manifestation of Heaven.

  • alex

    2003/05/16 at 6:41 am

    The last Mormon I knew, and would just about consider a friend, had a fairly severe armpit fetish. He often waxed rhapsodic about the pleasures of sniffing and licking his girlfriend’s armpits. In the social circles I run in, that’s neither normal or cool. Bringing it up in conversation does kill a beer buzz in a hurry, though.

  • Butt Sniffers

    2003/05/16 at 6:43 am

    All this quoting with the ellipses and whatnot–the buttsniffing must be contained. Yes, Dooce is witty. And yes, you can come up with your own witty sayings.

  • zchamu

    2003/05/16 at 6:55 am

    Sometimes, when politeness fails, bluntness succeeds. Good work.

  • Yahmdallah

    2003/05/16 at 7:17 am

    You are such a hoot, Dooce.

    Once when my wife and I went to an all-day summer rock concert, every time I got back from getting beer or food, yet another hairy greased pig in a thong was sitting on our blanket trying to chat up my wife, who would be ignoring said pig. Women have to put up with a lot in that regard. Thankfully, the only time women approach men in public is when they’re going to prank them.

  • anna jr.

    2003/05/16 at 8:21 am

    okay. that’s annoying.

    but tell me this:

    why is it that on several (yes, that’s more than a few) occasions in my life, when i have been sunning myself in a very public and populated location – not even in my bathing suit or anything – i have been treated, upon looking up from my book or magazine, to the sight of some random man – sitting just slightly within the public place personal space zone – with his COCK AND BALLS revealed to me?!?!?!?!


    do i look like the kind of person who might enjoy giving random stangers blow jobs?

    what IS this? why me? and the worst thing is that the only solution is to get up and leave.

    i seriously won’t go sit alone in an outside place anymore.


  • zak

    2003/05/16 at 8:42 am

    … you killed my father. Prepare to die.

  • alex

    2003/05/16 at 8:43 am

    anna jr: What is “the public place personal space zone”? Other than an obvious title for a Red Hot Chili Peppers or Parliament Funkadelic album, I’m not entirely sure if you mean just out in public, or within the sphere of your personal space.

  • Zandria

    2003/05/16 at 8:55 am

    If that guy was so clueless that he couldn’t take the obvious hints you were sending to just GO AWAY AND LEAVE YOU THE HELL ALONE, then he deserved whatever it was that you needed you tell him in order to make him go away.

  • Alan

    2003/05/16 at 8:59 am

    “if there’s one thing that I need to know to survive in Utah, it’s how to transform a simple linen tablecloth with eye-catching button embroidery.”

    For some reason, that triggered an Ogden flashback in me: My high school girlfriend showing me her prom dress, which had a pretty and rather modest scoop to the front. “Of course,” she told me, “my mom will fill that in with some lace.” Yep, right up to the chin. With great power, comes great responsibility. Embroider wisely.

  • Yahmdallah

    2003/05/16 at 9:21 am

    anna jr.,

    Men are very visually keyed to nekkid female flesh (almost above all else) and many make the incorrect assumption that women are the same way. (e.g. “I like to see boobies, so she prolly wants to see ‘the Roc’.”) Not that women don’t dig a nicely shaped butt, but most really don’t consider the unit the most aesthetically enticing thing in all of creation. Especially when they haven’t explicitly requested a showing. Some dudes haven’t, uh, grasped that fact. I apologize on the behalf of my gender for this confusion.

  • One

    2003/05/16 at 9:28 am

    Ah, you see Dooce, what you’ve failed to calculate was the persistant conversational power of the MORMON DOG OWNER! I mean, ya have to be persistent if one of the high callings in life it to stick you foot in-between the screen doors and the doorjam of complete strangers.

  • tortoise

    2003/05/16 at 9:42 am

    golf is for pussies is good if you’re a woman. “you wanna make out?” is better if you’re a guy.

  • Tre bored

    2003/05/16 at 9:52 am

    Dooce– I’m sorry to say— well– you’ve lost it. What happened to the cool chick in LA bumping in stars, working on amazing photo collections?

    Now all you do is moan/boast about Chuck & hubby, what color the walls are, BUTTON CRAFTS(!!!!) and what tivo is recording for you. –dude– you’re talking about guys in sweat pants for god’s sake.

    I think that it wasn’t LA that made you edgy– it was you.

    what’s going on? marriage doesn’t count cause I’m married too.

    not flaming–just askin.

  • peudepois

    2003/05/16 at 9:56 am

    Dooce. No pictures. 🙁 No pictures since March. Boo.

  • dooce

    2003/05/16 at 10:04 am

    Tre bored: if you can’t see the beauty or relevance of BUTTON CRAFTS (!!!!), dude, then I think you’re the one who’s lost it. everyone could use a little button craft.

  • Jodi

    2003/05/16 at 10:17 am

    What IS this comments section? A dog park? Man oh man! Some o’ the people here are not only sniffin’ a goodly amount of ass but also kissin’ it but(t) good! Yow!

    P.S. Golf blows, except when it’s miniature and a windmill is involved.

  • PJ

    2003/05/16 at 11:11 am

    You all wouldn’t be trash talking about golf if you saw the awesome new golf bag I got for Mother’s Day.

    What is wrong with this picture: Being outside on a beautiful sunny day with your friends, getting beers from the beverage cart, finishing the game, going in and having lunch and more beers, and making it home in time for the school bus.


    Plus, the shoes are REALLY cute.

  • anna jr.

    2003/05/16 at 11:15 am

    alex –

    it’s just how far away you “should” sit from strangers in the park.

    unless you want to show some chick your cockandballs OR you are at a red hot chili peppers concert in the park, in which case you won’t have ANY personal space.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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