Don't Care How, I Want it Now

I would love to tell you that Verizon employs customer service representatives that were not raised by wolves. I would love to tell you that they fixed my service the moment I reported it broken. I would also love to tell you that I met Ed McMahon earlier today, and he came bearing a big check. But I'm not a fan of lying. I still do not have a functioning business line or dsl. I still cannot check my corporate e-mail from within the confines of this house. However, I cannot leave the confines of this house between the hours of 8-4, because that might result in my missing the "technician" Verizon may or may not send. Do me a favor. If you reside at 206 Patterson Park, please leave the gate to your alley open, so that said "technician" can get through with his ladder to connect my phone service. Apparently, that's the only way. I guess it's time for me to meet my not-so neighbors.

Last week, instead of attending my first class, I feared I had stumbled upon a divorced women's group. Fortunately, Cameron Crowe's mother was not there claiming that she "finally, finally got in touch with" her anger, but almost. I'm sure our professor, the only male in the room, is wondering about the direction of our class...

Today we filled out an adoption application for a puppy. Not just any puppy. I have decided that when I do get a dog (which probably shouldn't be until after the blessed event-- but you know how it is with should), I would like it to be a Puggle (Beagle+Pug). They are small and adaptable and relatively well behaved. Unfortunately, everyone else in the country also thinks this is a good idea for their respective lives, and the dogs are hard to find and expensive. Yesterday, walking along the water to the gym, I stared at a guy walking his dog and talking on his cell phone. Not at him, though, at his dog. Yes, I maybe even coveted him a little. He was adorable. I said, completely ignoring the cell phone on this man's ear, "Is that a Puggle?" I can't even believe it. Not only did I comment on his breed of dog, I asked him where he got it, what the dog's temperament was like and how much he cost.

My fatal error, however, was in mentioning this encounter to The Boy. Because, much like Veruca Salt, when he gets his mind set on something, he don't care how, he wants it now. I looked up puggle adoption, just for research's sake, and learned that certain breeders are accepting orders now for delivery in 2007. Not only are the puppies not born, their parents could have just been born. The idea of paying $1000 for a dog of undetermined parentage when thousands die in shelters did not sit well with us. Today, on a whim, I stumbled across a shelter in NoVa with 7 Puggles. I feel confident that the application I filled out was more stringent than many adoption agencies. For humans. They asked, if we were to divorce, what would happen to the dog? They asked if we were willing to maintain dog health insurance (we said no), and the contract requires that we complete puppy kindergarten and only feed the dog premium food (organic, no preservatives) for its lifetime. I couldn't believe it. The Boy came home for lunch beside himself. He has already decided upon a name.

"Mosotos." He said, in his Chewbacca voice.

"Well, that doesn't seem fair. Why do you just get to name our dog, who doesn't even exist, this ridiculous name?" I asked him. I reminded him that at the vet, the dog would be identified by this name and our last name. I reminded him that we would have to introduce him to others using this name.

"I know, that's what I like about it," he said. He is not wholly without reason. "If we meet him and he doesn't seem like a Mosotos, we could name him something else. I'm thinking Morotos."
Not only did I never plan on having a dog, I also never considered having to roll the 'r' in my dog's name when meeting new friends at the park.

When asked why he was so excited about having a dog, he said, "It will be like three best friends!" I wondered why two wasn't enough. "Two is great," he said, "but this third is perfect because he won't interrupt us! It'll be awesome!"

I hope he doesn't get this gung-ho about having kids, at least not for a while.

But maybe The Boy is onto something. If I got a little more Veruca-esque I'd get through to the folks at Verizon. I might get sent down the chute with the bad eggs, but at least I'd have a high-speed internet connection.