(Unless a Navy Seal parachuted out of a helicopter to pluck him from the icy ocean waters during a hurricane) Your dog is NOT a RESCUE

Full confession: I once purchased a puppy at a Beverly Hills pet store. I didn't plan it -- the circumstances involved a husband high on cocaine, a marriage hanging by a thread, and the age old subconscious attempt to save said marriage by "having a baby." This dog turned out to be the love of my life however (RIP, Pablo) so I can't say it was a mistake but I WAS always embarrassed by the question "Where did you get him?" 

I have also had and loved dogs I adopted from the Humane Society. Never once did I refer to them as "Rescue Dogs" and the recent obsession with this classification drives me fucking nuts! Unless you found your dog starving in the woods with one foot caught in a bear trap, you did not rescue him. You wanted a dog so you went out and picked out a dog. Yes, you have done a good thing by choosing your pet from an animal shelter but I guarantee your dog gives you more love, laughter, and life enjoyment than you can give it. When pet owners need to qualify their dogs this way, it says more about their desire for a moral pat on the back than it holds any actual meaning about that pet. 

My wardrobe consists almost entirely of things I buy at thrift stores but I do not say I wear "abandoned clothing." Likewise, my apartment rental is not a "liberated vacancy." And the son my parents adopted at age 5 out of the California welfare system was not a "rescue boy." 

Now stop being so pompous and just enjoy your damn dog!

--Heather

Fuck You Media Scare Tactics

Last night, I woke up in a cold sweat realizing that I had NO IDEA how to escape if someone zip tied my wrists together. But then this appeared in my Facebook feed. Thank god for the internet. I feel so much better now.

Everyone needs to know this:

Here Is How To Escape If Someone Zip Ties Your Wrists. This Is A Life-Saving Technique.

TRENDZIFIED.NET

 --Heather

PICTURE BELOW MAY APPEAR SMALLER THAN IT ACTUALLY IS

I'm not a very traditional gal so it will not surprise you to hear that I do NOT endorse the giving of pre-marriage engagement rings. Besides the negative environmental impacts of the diamond mining industry, I abhor the judgement that comes along with them as women compare size and men go into debt for the cost of the future brides "rock."

But my normal dislike of this practice has been ratcheted to an all time high with the spectacle of Mariah Carey's ridiculous engagement ring from her billionaire husband to be. Price estimates go as high as 10 million dollars. Again, TEN MILLION DOLLARS. Yes, your fiance can afford that ring but why would you possibly want it? How can you seriously wear that (or more often, keep it locked away in your safe) when that much money could literally change the lives of thousands of people? 

Oh, Mariah. Poor, poor Mariah. When I look at that ginormous diamond on your finger, I do not think you are rich in love. I think you are poor in self-esteem. This ring is not a symbol of love and commitment. It is statement of gross consumption and self-absorption. You are not the role model for little girls' romantic dreams.

Romance is your billionaire boyfriend putting a quarter in the machine outside the grocery store and giving you the ring that came out in a little plastic bubble because he was overcome by emotion and knew he just had to propose to you that VERY SECOND. And more romantic is you looking at that ring with love just because it was presented to you by the man you adore and wearing it even though it turned your finger green.

But what do I know? I don't believe in this shit.

-- Heather

I DON'T GIVE A PISS!

“Hey, Pete, I’m out of toilet paper. Will you pass some over?”

“Sure…but don’t ask me for a tampon!” jokes the boy in the toilet stall next to mine.

It was 1987, I was 18 years old, and I lived in a college dorm with unisex bathrooms. We brushed our teeth, emptied our bowels, and washed our hair side by side in a gender blended atmosphere. Bathrobes and towels covered our private bits but real privacy was scarce. And it was all perfectly NORMAL.

Thirty years later, I cannot believe the political attention and moral outrage now being given to the people with whom we will or won't share our public restrooms. My comfort level or lack thereof is the same whether I am in this shared space with a strange man OR an unknown woman. In fact, the less known they are, the less self conscious I feel. Contrary to the intimate bodily functions taking place, this is not an arena for intimacy. 

Going to the bathroom is not a sexual experience (for most of us.) To those who worry about sharing this space with an opposite gender bathroom mate, I say: get over yourself! We go there for a lot of reasons: to pee or puke, wash our hands and wipe our butts, put on make up, take out tampons, smoke cigarettes. Generally speaking, we do NOT go to the bathroom to meet people. 

So stop creating controversy over this simple and daily necessity of life. I have plenty of other stuff to worry about besides who is taking a piss next to me. Like who didn't replace the toilet paper roll!?!

--Heather