lizz has a tumblr

Dog parking.
Portland, Oregon.
March 20, 2013.

I just donated to the Humane Society. There are so many wonderful animals that will and do need help. Click on the photo for a secure donation site.

So much is so bad right now in New York, maybe this can help. I got Ollie from a shelter after I left New York after 9/11 and being laid off a few times… I was depressed and angry, and he has made my life so much better — then and now. Adopting him was and always will be the best decision that I have ever made.

So if this can help someone else find their best friend, well… it’s the least I can do. 

DOGS OBSESSED WITH FETCH FIND POOP!!

(My mom’s not-joke aside, that pic is ABSOLUTELY of Sailor or Oliver if they had not been raised by people who treated their pups like children… Also, no one EVER tell Oliver that he can get a ball as a reward for swimming in cold waters to find poop. We live way too close to this for him to know it is an option…)  

Since this is an all-puppy day, here is a very good blog about why Mitt Romney is a terrible dog owner.

Let’s save this dog! Please repost!

Do you have an extra purse or man satchel that you’ve been thinking should be filled with a tiny dog? Do you live in the greater Los Angeles area and long for both unconditional love and tiny poops?

I CAN HELP YOU!!

The smaller of these two chihuahuas was abandoned in Hollywood on Friday night. My friends took him in, but cannot keep him for themselves. I’m helping out in spreading the word. He’s very young and very sweet. Honestly, they think he may have been a discarded Christmas present. 

So let’s use social media to spread the word that a really cute and nice pup needs a home. I swear I will repost the happy ending to this story as soon as I get it. 

Plus? You could raise him to be not a tiny ankle-biting stereotype! And he’s so young you can name him whatever you want — Gizmo! Stripe! The possibilities are endless!

If you need details, email my friends JJ and/or Alden.

This is a mock up of the *very least* you can do. I mean the very, VERY least.

Kim Jong-Il, has given me the baseline for my new memorial standards. 

Additional ideas: 
— Diamonds lining the 10-story portrait. Ten stories. There is no fucking around with this. Anyone who questions more than 9 stories as a giant portrait on a hearse will be shot. (Also: blood diamonds, explicitly mined by upper-middle class white children in some new study abroad program that lets them know more about ME through diamond mining.)

— Mandatory discussion of my better qualities on all major holidays including July 26th (my birthday) and whatever my day I will lose my life and humanity subsequently spiral into a massive hellscape.

— Puppy parade before and after of adoptable puppies from local shelters. (I’m not a monster.)

— Hybrid hearses. (Let’s make this a *thing* and EARTH FIRST! and stuff.) 

Eight years ago today, I met this little guy at Chicago’s Anti-Cruelty Society.  I had just left a terrible job interview, where some horrible recruiter told me I would make $9 an hour and like it. I left quickly, totally dressed to the 9’s (well the 4’s if we want to wallow in vanity), and stormed through the lousy Chicago Smarch weather until I realized that I should go to the dog shelter and pet some puppies. (That was my usual free entertainment as it was right off the Chicago bus line and thus near my old place.)

Oliver was sitting in a cage with two sisters, both of whom looked significantly more like beagles — more white stripes on the face and such. I had nothing against the girls; but because of Sailor, I knew I wanted a boy and I knew I wanted the most lab-like pup I could find. And then, after meeting each other, I knew Oliver and I were meant to be together (hell, I wasn’t supposed to be at the shelter that day — I had an interview and *really* expensive pants on). From the first moments we were playing, I knew what was right.  I asked him if he wanted me to be his mommy, and he smothered me with kisses (later I learned that this is Oliver’s favorite means of communication). 

Then I realized I had forgotten my cell phone, which ended up being a wonderful thing.  Before Ollie, I would call friends and family members to have them talk me out of adopting whatever dog I was looking at during my free time puppy time.  Of course, my boy and I had a bond — I never would have called.  But a lovely stranger allowed me to use his cell to call my landlord to give them a warning that the shelter was going to call. (I don’t think that was much of a surprise as I would ask every day what I had to do to get a dog in my place.) The shelter questioned my income and my landlord and my living scenario — they really got the job done and for reasons like this I’m having an 8th anniversary.  After a really exciting bus ride home, drive back and paperwork assessment, I was told I could become the mother of @misterpuppy.  He would need shots and neutering and other things, but I HAD MY DOG!!!

Absolutely nothing in my life (thus far, fingers crossed) has felt as good as seeing someone put a collar on Oliver that said “I’m adopted!!”

I picked him up from the shelter eight years ago tomorrow… but that’s day two of this Olliversary.