We never found the dogs last night. I couldn’t sleep all night, worrying that they might get hit by a car or beat up by other dogs.
I woke up around 6 to go look for them again. I found Snoop up the street, wondering with a dog that WASN’T Willie. He was soaking wet, covered in mud. He looked pretty traumatized.
“Where’s Willie?” I started crying. They always stay together.
I put the dumbass dog on my lap so he didn’t get my car full of mud and drove home crying all the way. As I’m walking up the sidewalk, I see paw prints on my walkway. Could it be? YES! Willie was at the front door waiting for me!
I wanted to kick them and hug them all over at the same time. I hated thinking something bad had happened to them all night long.
And if it wasn’t bad enough that I was worrying about my dogs all night, I had to deal with my fucking RUDE neighbors. They were partying all night, which I’m used to and I tolerate, but when the walls in my house are literally shaking from their music being so loud at THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING?
I screamed out the window. “CAN YOU TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN??”
Tony got mad, said I should have just called the police. A very pregnant woman is MUCH scarier than the cops. Yes?
They turned it down, but not off, it went on until after 5 this morning. What the hell?
I don’t mind people having fun, partying, playing their music loud. I really don’t. But I think playing it that loud at 3 in the morning (and screaming “OH PLAY THAT SONG, FUCKERS, I FUCKING LOVE THAT SONG, PUT IT BACK FUCKERS” at the top of your lungs) is beyond rude.
Now that my dogs are safe and the walls have stopped shaking, I shall go back to bed and try to put my throbbing crotch back to sleep.