Not that I wanted one. Okay, I wanted one. I want one so bad right now. I’d put it on so many things. Like my sweater/jacket until it was defeated by fuzz thirty seconds later. Then, I’d stick it on my forehead and upload it to Facebook because that’s… well… it’s just plain hilarious!

The place I went to vote is a rundown church a few blocks away. I took the elevator up four flights, walked around a few corners and ended up in a good sized theater with stadium seating. It must be eighty years old with all the molding and pillars and stuff. Very cool. Probably seated a hundred people or so. That’s Chicago for you. Neat stuff in old buildings. I’ve lived here for eight years and never knew it existed.

In my neighborhood cluttered with people on social programs, hardly anyone votes. This is fantastic as I don’t have to wait in any sort of line. When I walked in the pollsters seemed thrilled that someone had sobered enough to vote.

When they found my name in the chart I made a joke about how it’s crazy you don’t need any identification to cast a ballot, but nobody laughed.

Here’s another thing. I don’t want most people voting. Most people are not well-informed. Not you, of course. You’re damned intelligent. But your neighbor isn’t. Shouldn’t only the smartest of us be voting? I think that’s a good plan. While I was voting I thought it would be funny to have at the top, “If you haven’t seen Meet the Press at least once in the past year, please do not vote. Go home and turn on the game and pop a Pabst.”

This occurred to me as I was supposed to vote for over seventy judges. I mean, I don’t even know why we vote on judges. The only time I ever saw one live was when I was in court to protest a ticket where I ran through a red light on a bike. I believe only felons and lawyers should be allowed to vote on judges. Let the experts have their say. I don’t give a shit.

Oh, and then they tacked on some weird thing at the end that was eight paragraphs long and about education. I didn’t read it. I just voted “yes.” That was probably the right call. “Yes” is usually a good thing. If I accidentally voted to get rid of free lunch or something, hey, sorry about that.

Lastly, I goofed and voted both for and against a judge. He (or she – I didn’t read the name) was running unopposed. There were over twenty of these people. Let’s clean up the ballot and remove that nonsense. Nobody’s time needs to be wasted by some state circuit clerk  bailiff  that nobody else challenged.

I, naturally, brought my dog to the booth as I do everything else. Some official suggested that she must be a seeing eye dog. It’s funny because she’s five pounds. Get it? I’ve heard that joke 1000x but I do appreciate the effort so I always fake a laugh. Hey, at least they didn’t kick me out of the room for bringing a damned dog.

All in all – it’s fun to vote. I really don’t care who wins either way, but I love feeding that big sheet into the machine. Feels good, like I did something important. Even when I got the printout of the judge error, I was still proud of myself.

My boss often suggests that I attend networking events. The problem is that I’m busy most nights and, oh yeah, I don’t like networking events. Well, that’s not entirely true. Put me at a blogger convention and I’ll run around talking to everyone. If there was a Fresca roundtable group I’d run a smear campaign against my opponent to win the treasurer position.

The networking events that are in the industry I work are held at bars after work. I don’t drink. Plus, watching people get loaded is not a lot of fun for a sober guy. Even at the party tonight there was a guy getting moshed on red wine. He stood too close to me and kept spilling his drink talking about dog rescue. It’s pretty gross to see that red lips and teeth thing.

Look, if you need red wine because it brings out the flavor of meat or fish or bread or whatever, fine. But don’t get sloshed on it at a party. You look like you just made out with one of the Cirque du Soleil clowns that warms up the audience. Drink some white zin and call it a night.

Oh, and this guy kept touching me. He was a little tipsy, and I suspect more than a little gay. Lots of touching on the elbows, and some forceful arm holding. Also, he blew me in the storage closet. Toothy. Sorry – easy joke. But it was strange to be touched by a stranger. I’m sure he was just being friendly and possibly flirty.

The event had about fifteen participants. It was sort of a sad party. The DJ booth was manned, lots of food and free booze and just a handful of dog enthusiasts who brought costumes. I have to say, though. It wasn’t bad. Sure there wasn’t much going on, but the people there were genuine. Also, not weirdo dog people. The pug person only brought one pug, not three. That’s rare.

Since I didn’t know anyone I jumped into a circle of existing conversation. I’m not uncomfortable doing this, but at some point if nobody reaches out proactively, you have to select one person to choose as your leader. The leader gets the first introduction and your  handshake, all while the others witness this selection. And I know they’re thinking, “Why is he not choosing me first? That guy is NOT our leader. He has red wine lips and is grabby.”

I always go right in the middle, pick the dude directly across from me, and introduce myself. This brings the energy in the circle to a halt and I now have to make another decision. Which way do I start introducing myself to everyone else? Clockwise or counter? The last person must feel like a real loser.

By the way, this is a facility that is strictly for people to have pet parties. Yes. You read that right. They have all sorts of events and the owner invited me to an all-chihuahua meetup in a few weeks. I’ll go. I suspect my dance card will be empty that night as well.

All in all, I am proud I didn’t sit around in my underwear tonight coming up with tweets that would get responses to make me feel less alone. I even miss red wine molester.

When I first met the dog she was a patient with parvo, the deadliest disease a puppy can catch. It kills most dogs it infects. She weighed one pound, seven ounces. Christina brought her to the condo on a Friday night. She had never brought an animal home before.

This dog is going to die this weekend. I just didn’t want her to die in the hospital.

The puppy lay in a small shoebox and didn’t appear to be moving. She was approximately six weeks old and had been brought in from the owner of a high-end dog shop. This store specializes in small dogs, all under five pounds. He had purchased the dog for $500 and was attempting to see her for $2,000. He would have sold her at that price, too, except she contracted parvo.

Parvo is a highly contagious disease and an infected dog needs to be removed from the general population immediately. It will infect other dogs and half of them will die. He brought her to Christina to protect his investment.

At the time we had two cats. Out of all the doctors and techs, we were the only ones without a dog. Parvo doesn’t affect cats. Even though there are employees at the hospital at the weekend, doctors are only there sporadically. Christina brought her home and we attended to her. I hadn’t really ever been around sick animals and this one was damned sick. Her eyes didn’t open. She would cough a little but that was it. Every three hours we had to use a humidifier to open her lungs and then an  eyedropper to distribute water and food. Her veins were too small to insert an IV.

D.J. – don’t get attached. I’ve estimated her chances at only 30% survival.

That Sunday we had planned to go up to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin. I know you’re laughing right now. But you’re wrong to laugh. It’s fun. More fun that you know. And no, I don’t dress up.

We had to give the dog to Will –  one of the other vets in her practice. He also didn’t have a dog. He’s got a ferret now that I think about it. There was some reason he couldn’t take her home on Friday, but whatever. Maybe he was trying to get laid and a dying dog isn’t exactly a panty-melter. He took her while we watched jousts and drank mead.

On the way home I realized I had started to fall for this dog. I told my wife as much and she was starting to have feeling for her too. There were two problems, however. First, the dog didn’t belong to us. Second, it was going to shove off.

I’ll write the whole story later, but obviously the dog survived. The vet bills to nurse her were well over $1500 and he couldn’t keep paying as she recovered so he released her to us. She also developed a nasty case of  pneumonia  during parvo and almost died again. Then she broke her leg a few months later.

Since then, perfect health. This morning it felt good to go back to the animal hospital where, for the first year of her life, she would accompany my ex-wife. Most of the staff were still there and they fawned over her when she came in. I got to visit with the doctors. Sure it was a bit uncomfortable showing up at a place with people I hadn’t seen since the divorce. I got over that quickly.

My wife moved a few years ago to California. I’m not sure if she’s been back to Chicago, but my guess is that even if she’s been here, she didn’t make a trip to the hospital. So, in a weird way, I’m the active link to these people.

I didn’t go to her hospital for the past two years. I felt too uncomfortable going there without my wife. I worked with another vet the past two years, and she was great. The real reason I went back today, however, is that they have excellent care and are reasonably priced. I called Christina last week to find out what the dog needed. My currently hospital suggested four vaccines. Christina told me the dog needed none and just some regular bloodwork.

Thank God I still have a nice relationship with Christina. She saved me $300 today. I’ll continue to use her for animal advice.

One of the things Will said when I came in this morning struck an emotional chord. He proudly announced to the newer staff, “I practically raised this dog her first year!”

This is wildly inaccurate, as he was just in the same building as her each day. My wife and I did 99.9% of the heavy lifting. But in his mind he was a big part of the experience. And you could tell how special that was to him. It was too beautiful of a moment to correct.

By the way, she needs to lose exactly one pound. Also, she’s due for  a dental, which runs around $300. Oh well – it’s basically the first time I’ve had to pay for animal care as an adult. I highly recommend marrying a vet if you have animals. Totally pays off.

Hmm – I should have factor in the cost of divorce and the emotional damage being repaired by my therapist. Probably a draw.

All of you that have less than two please take one giant step forward.  Not so fast, Mr. Paris.

My girlfriend Jessica has been here for the past two weeks.  She brought her cat and dog, who happens to also be a chihuahua.  His name is Dirk.  Mine, as you may know, is Lil’ Miss Meepers.  Both dogs get along swimmingly and cause no problems in my life.

Sleeping is another matter.  First of all, I’m just shy of 6’3″.  Doesn’t that sound cooler than 6’2″?  Instead of going with the more humble and rounding-down 6’2″, I have to try to sound like a big-shot (pun INtended) and round up.  Let’s remove ego and start over.

Sleeping is another matter.  First of all, I’m 6’2″.  My girlfriend is 5’11”.  That’s a bunch of tall yoyos for one bed.

By the way, trying out “yoyos” instead of “fools” or “foolios” or “bozos” which I use more regularly.  Not sure if I like it.  Will keep you posted.

It’s time to get a king bed.  Sharing a queen with two tiny dogs who burrow and one girl whose skin runs at 104  Fahrenheit  is a little much.  If I bump up against her in the middle of the night, it feels like the onset of a chemical burn.  I have to recoil and retreat to my side.  This is an inch and a half to the right.  Not a lot of buffer.  Plus, she wakes up with my hand across her mouth every morning.  I must have dreams where I’m beating the plops out of something.  Hopefully it’s not dreams where I’m beating her up – but that would sort of explain things, right?

I’m putting a two-year plan together on this bed thing.  First I just bought a new queen set for my other bedroom.  That was expensive. Also, my frame on this bed was not cheap, and it’s a queen.  Putting 2k into a king frame and mattress would be painful at this time.  I could do it if I started selling my essences (blood, semen – not sure if you can sell urine).

I hope you are sleeping better than I at the moment.  But I am grateful to have two animals and a lady that wants to share my bed.  Also, I wait for her to fall asleep before unleashing my vapor.  I’m a gentleman.

On May 5th I’ll be walking (I think it’s two miles) with my dog, Lil’ Miss Meepers, and a few thousand other dogs and owners for Anti-Cruelty.  It’s called Bark in the Park, and it goes to support the largest no-kill animal shelter in Illinois.

Look, I don’t care if you beat dogs personally, buy them from puppy mills, or train them to fight in cement pits.  Your business is your business.  I ain’t wearing white on my wedding day either, understand?

But for dogs that are abandoned or rescued, yeah, they deserve a chance.  Anti-Cruelty is great.  My ex-wife did her externship there after she graduated vet school.  They rock.

I don’t ask you foolios for much, but throw a few bucks their way.  I’ll even sweeten the pot.

Whoever donates the most money will get to have a one-on-one, heart-to-heart video call with me via Skype.  Oh yeah.  Take that in.  Feel the power of that.  Hopefully it wasn’t just indigestion.

We’ll gab like the ladies in the steno pool.  Complain about your boss, kids, or the clerk at the local liquor store who silently judges your weekly three handles of Dewar’s.  Heck, it’s your call.

If you’re uncomfortable with the video thing, I’ll do the video part and you can just be on audio.  That will be incredibly awkward, but that’s what I’m willing to do to save some dogs!

And if you don’t want to do a call, I’ll write you a letter.  Yep, a solid six to eight sentences about how awesome you are.  Tape it up in the  bathroom  mirror next to your Oprah gratitude list.  Or burn it in a ritual sacrifice.  I don’t care.

So, to recap – whoever gives the most bread will get a call or a letter from me.  Plus, just donating will help you resolve some dharma and set up some solid karma for the next life.

I really appreciate anything you can give.  Click below.