Hot Dogs!

As I sit here, surrounded by fans, my shirt tied up at the bottom like a 13-year old girl in the 80s trying to look "hip," I am reminded of why I moved to Los Angeles - the beach. How thankful am I for the ability to dip into the ocean and relax in the cool water when the sun inexplicably moves a thousand miles closer to the center of Los Angeles, putting the AC on overtime, the ice cream stands on full alert, and the seats on the Matterhorn so hot you could fry a Swedish person on them in under five minutes and they would be cooked to perfection? Very, very grateful.

But I live ten miles from the beach so forget that. I'll flip on the hot tub and jump in. When I get out, I will feel amaaaazing by the sudden drop in temperature. While J.J. sits in a comfortable, air conditioned office, watching money pour endlessly into his bank account while I eat frosting for lunch because GE repossessed my kitchen, I am reminded that I do have a goal here, a purpose, if you will. And that, of course, is tending to the ladies.

And by ladies I mean the dogs.

This city, believe it or not, is walking on air...I never thought I could feel so free-ee-ee. Sorry, got lost on a tangent. This city is actually quite good for animal lovers. Our first dog came to us from an animal shelter in North Hollywood - she cost us an astronomical eight dollars. Well, after the surgery once she'd been sufficiently crushed beneath the wheels of a Volkswagen in San Fernando, four-thousand and eight dollars. Moving on.

The second dog came to us from New Jersey, I think. She was a beautiful white breed of some unknown variety, though I am told she was part Dingo. She ate butter when no one was looking and sat on the sofa when everyone was looking because darn it, she was a rebel. Sadly, even the James Dean of dogs wasn't invincible, and she now roams with doggies in the sky thanks to an apparent three pack-a-day smoking habit that gave her lung cancer. We miss you, Quigley. 

The final dog, Maggie, came to me from a friend in "the business." I don't wanna name drop *7th Heaven* but she *Malcom in the Middle* has a fair amount of *Walker, Texas Ranger*

acting credits, and *Full House* *Charles in Charge* *Crayola Kids Adventures: The Trojan Horse* simply didn't have the time to devote her full attention to said dog, and wanted her to go to a good home. Instead, she came here.

When the fires of Hell aren't breathing down the necks of Angelenos, there is a wealth of nice areas to take your dogs. Griffith Park is spectacular, and dogs are welcome. There are a number of great dog parks also available throughout the city. If you're looking for something unique, round up the puppies, drive them out to the middle of the Mojave Desert, and let them roam free until they collapse in the sun. If your neighborhood has a local public pool, throw the dogs in for a dip after hours. If your neighbor has a pool, throw the dogs in while the neighbor is at work, that no good free loading ungrateful punk who borrowed your lawn mower and never bothered to return it and when I called him he said it had been stolen by gangsters looking for "grass." Moron.

If you're looking for that special someone and eHarmony isn't cutting it, check out the Los Angeles Animal Services website and find the perfect dog or cat for you. If you're an idiot and you like birds, keep in mind that what you're doing goes against God and He will surely smote you for doing so.