Holler at me, Deutschland.

Well, once again I have failed to meet my posting-once-a-week pledge but in the meantime, I apparently passed the 1,000 page views mark - I just checked and it's at 1,111.

I used to be am secretly obsessed with checking my blog's stats.  Especially the traffic sources section.  Google searches of both "phil collins hour of power" and "phil collins and the hour of power" have routed people to my little cyber soapbox.  I have a feeling Phil Collins is a televangelist and his hour of power involves twelve apostles rather than sixty shots of beer, but either way, it all boils down to a groovy kind of love, right?  "Paul Schneider" also redirected someone to my site.  I like to think that it was Paul Schneider Googling himself to check out his star meter on IMDB.  Come to think of it, I look at this "stats" tab on my Blogspot homepage as kind of like my pre-IMDB star meter.  Especially because when I write this blog, I pretend as if more than just my brother, a few friends, and my roommate's mom read it.  Oh yeah, I had big plans for this blog.  I was so concerned about protecting my identity that I literally created a separate email address (mostlikelytohavebadhair@gmail.com) to set it up so that there was no way of tracing it to my name.  #7FollowersTotal.  

Oh, here's my favorite Google search stat.  TWO different people have been led to my blog by searching "guy looks like satan."  Did you mean balthazar getty? I know I talked about a guy looking like the baby Satan from Passion of the Christ once, but I have a feeling it just took them right to this picture.

My next favorite tab?  Pageviews by country.  Let's check out where I have been spreading good will across the globe.  You're welcome, America.

I took this picture of my cousin when we were in Berlin.
Most likely to be an ausfahrt.  Am I right, Germany? Eh?

United States: 1,060.

Ireland: 28.  Thanks, Nathan.

Germany: 14.  Danke!  I went to Berlin last year and it was pretty fantastic.  Also, thanks for inventing Advent calendars.  And hot dogs.  You made my childhood.

Denmark: 3.  Thanks, Julie.

Netherlands: 2.  I assume you took your queue from Denmark.

Romania: 2.  To be honest, until junior high I thought you were a made-up country where Bunnicula came from.

United Kingdom: 1.  You speak English, and Germany has 13 on you.  And you call yourself an ally?

Portugal: 1.  Paul Schneider is shooting on location.

Seriously, though, whoever is reading this in Germany, please tell me how you found this blog.  I promise I will cheer for you in the next World Cup.

****

Sidenote to all my loyal followers out there, I have a Lucy-fer update.  My uncle went out of town and asked me to take care of her.  I immediately had visions of her strapping me to the roof of the apartment building, duct taping a lightning rod to my mouth, and then dialing her friend Satan to request he redirect the next tropical storm to the Upper East Side.  I politely declined, explaining that things were busy at work, and apparently the rest of my family did the same, so asked one of his parishioners to take care of her.  I guess Lucy could sense that the woman who volunteered was trying to perform some sort of service for the Church and consequently decided to go into full anti-Christ mode, because evidently the woman called my uncle within the first 24 hours to say that she couldn't handle it, and now my other uncle is taking care of her.

****

Lucy-fer

They say all dogs go to heaven.  Well, I beg to differ.  I'd say that when they're the less charming canine reincarnation of Attila the Hun, they spend a little time in doggie purgatory before descending into a deep circle of hell where they are sentenced to an eternity on a tight leash, chewing on a rawhide bone that never wears down while a squirrel just out of reach points and laughs (my favorite thing about squirrels is their human-like hands). 

I hate you.

Without further ado, let me introduce Lucy (short for Lucifer), my uncle's yellow lab that I have dogsat for on occasion:

The last time I took care of Lucy, I swore it would be the last.  She is, to put it simply, the devil.  I love dogs.  My dog Liam was both adorable and hilarious.  Lucy is neither of those.  If I had to choose between spending time with Lucy and having a colonoscopy, I'd take the latter without anesthesia.  Even as we speak, I can hear a crashing in the living room and I'm just hoping it's the demon exiting her body...

No worries, guys.  She's just eating a coaster (sigh of relief).  Hmm.. where to begin...  Well, the first time I dogsat Lucy, it began with her just being incessantly annoying (scratching my legs up until they bled, jumping all over me, dragging me down the street while I walked her, etc.) But it turns out that no, it wasn't just puppy energy... it was homicidal behavior.  My uncle had asked me to keep the door to the bathroom closed so she wouldn't eat anything in there, but I forgot to heed his warning.  Before I knew it, she was chasing me around the apartment with my razor in her mouth.  That wasn't all, though..   I have to point out at this point that at my uncle's surprise birthday party Lucy came up in conversation.. as I bit my tongue, he acknowledged that yes, she "has a lot of energy, but she'd never hurt a fly."  Umm.... Once when I was dogsitting, I made dinner and while I was eating in the living room, she went into the kitchen, got up on the counter, got the kitchen knife out of the sink, and started chasing me with that.  The violence has escalated.

Heeeeeeere's Lucy!

She is just absolutely the worst.  THE WORST.  I remember when my dad and aunt and uncle came to the apartment, I had warned them that Lucy was the Pol Pot of household pets and they thought I was exaggerating.  "She's just a puppy," they said.  "She just doesn't like being cooped up."  Well, they came to the apartment and as she ran in circles they laughed and said, "See?  She just likes to be around people."  Then, on cue, the dog stopped mid-psychotic-run, looked us in the eye, and peed on the hardwood floor.  "Fuck you. Don't try to explain me.  I'm crazy."  Hey, don't look at me.  We've been on the same page from the get-go.  You's a crazy bitch.

My cousin left me a note thanking me for taking care of her and he mentioned that I should destroy the letter once I was done reading it.  No worries, the dog just tore it up.

Christ, I remember my uncle warning me not to walk her in Central Park because she was "in heat."  I guess because my dog Liam was a male and we had him fixed after he rode my giant Meeko stuffed animal down the stairs (Meeko got put in the storage room after that traumatizing incident), I forget that animals have reproductive systems.  Can you imagine how cuckoo bananas she is at her time of the month?  If Lucy had opposable thumbs, she would probably light a church on fire and shoot a cop while she was PMS'ing.

The last time I sat for Lucy was the absolute worst.  First of all, my uncle doesn't pay us for dogsitting which only makes this all the more painful.  He just leaves money for "food" (which translates to alcohol in order to get through the ordeal).  The last time I was here, my cousin had bought some groceries for the week and there was still about $60 left.  The little shitstain tore up the money and left it in a neat little pile for me to find when I came home.  "Hey, remember the chana masala you were going to order for dinner?  Mmm... that sounds good. FOR ME TO POOP ON."

"Sit?  Am I doing 'sit?!'"

Once when I was taking care of her, I had a couple of friends stay over.  I insisted they take the bed and I'd sleep on the couch.  In order to win the argument, I said that I wanted to sleep on the couch so I would be in the other room in case Lucy acted up.  The moment I said this she barfed all over the kitchen.  After cleaning all of this up, I went to sleep on the couch.  I woke up during the night to go to the bathroom and as soon as I walked past the kitchen where she was gated up, she looked me in the eyes and insta-puked again.  Now that is talent.  I can understand how she feels, though.  I kind of want to throw up when I look at her, too.

Taking her on a walk is like wrapping a Twizzler around your wrist and attaching it to Mufasa with a wildebeest 20 yards away.  She is... awful.

She isn't just uncontrollable in a cute dog way.. like when they see a squirrel and want to chase it.  She's just a moron.  Once while walking her, we had been trying to get her to poop for 20 minutes.  Please just poop so we can go home.  When does she decide to pinch a loaf?  (Yes, Andrea, that one is for you since you had never heard that before you came to NY)  While crossing the street and the red hand is blinking, Lucy decides to get comfy and take a shit..  Ok, now the hand is no longer blinking and there are cabs coming at us.. quickly.. Lucy, they're.. oh SHIT. LUCY. MOVE!!! WE'RE GOING TO DIE.  Apparently yesterday she pooped an entire roll of coins when she was with my cousin.  Not shocking.  She was probably stacking them up so she could beat me with them when I came to watch her.

There is one thing I'll give Lucy.. she knows how to give a guest a proper welcome.  The last time I came here, I already knew how much I hated this damn dog but at the time, I was still living on Long Island with my grandma so when choosing between the two, I'd pick the chemically imbalanced pooch over the LIRR commute any day.  Anyway, I walked in the door and she immediately sank her claws into my arm flesh.. As I tried to swat her pterodactyl talons off of me, I threw my purse down so I could defend myself.  Without missing a beat, she dropped down to all fours, reached up with one paw (I swear over everything unholy - particularly Lucy's soul - that this is true), and turned on the stove burner underneath my purse (which I had dropped in the effort to stop Lucy's attack). So to sum it all up, the dog tried to set my shit on fire.

Alright, ya'll, I should probably go.  I'm looking out the window and I see a doll that looks suspiciously like me hanging over the window ledge and now I'm feeling a sharp pain in my right side.

Update: she chewed the handle off her leash while I was blogging this.  Lucy for the win.