Let me tell you a little bit about how my night went down.

I got home last night and needed to make something to eat, shower/get ready for a concert, walk the dog, and wait for the damn Schwan's man to bring me some frozen salmon and waffles before I could rush off to the concert. Pretty much, I had one million fucking things to do at the same time and only got to relax once I went to bed.

Ah yes. I'm living the American Dream. No wonder why people in undeveloped parts of the world want us to leave them the fuck alone.

I'm to the part in my night where I'm walking the dog when suddenly, out of nowhere, this huge black lab (nice dogs, my ASS) jumps on top of Bailey and starts barking. Well dudes. My instincts kicked in. I fucking kicked that dog, grabbed Bailey, and instantly marched over to the house where this obnoxious dog lives. The kids (pre-teens in my estimations) were outside, and I'm pretty sure I made them cry. I wagged my finger at them and told them this was the last damn time I would be seeing their damn dog off its leash in this neighborhood. I told them if I saw it again, I'd be calling the police, and that would be the last time they'd be seeing their dog.

Of course, I'm doing this all with a little terrier under my arm and a bag of dog crap in my other hand, so I'm not sure how official I look.

Then, as I turn away, I see the Schwan's man getting ready to leave my house. Fucking A. I am not waiting two more weeks for this dude. So I tear off running for him, shouting to stop.

I reach him, and apparently I'm supposed to "take a tour of the catalog" with him before he'll give me my damn food. Well, this is just not ideal, as I've still got a shaking dog under my arm and the bag of dog shit in my hand. I ask him if I can have a minute? Which of course he's going to give me, since he works off commission.

I take a damn tour of the catalog, which largely involves him trying to get me to buy two marinated steaks for $10, along with some baked potato things that made my ass bigger just looking at them. NO THANKS.

Right before he leaves, he says, "That's some great art on your arms. That purple is really hard to come by."

Well I can safely say I had never heard this before but whatever. I knew what was coming. And sure enough, he says, "You wanna see my work? I'll have to take off my shirt a bit."

First the UPS guy. Now the Schwan's guy. Are you fucking kidding me?

And NO. I don't have time to see this man's damn tattoos. I'm running late as it is, but SURE. Let's see it.

He tells me as he's unbuttoning his shirt that there's a story behind this one. Oh goody. Someone's got cable and watches "Miami Ink." BAER.

Then he proceeds to say that he drew this up while he was in the service. The tattoo shop offered to do it for free if they could keep his design. Then he says to me, "Yeah. You'll recognize the design, I'm sure. And I'm not making a dime off it."

Dudes. It's the fucking bulldog mascot that you see everywhere. You know the one I'm talking about? Anyway. There's no way in HELL I'm believing that this guy is the mastermind behind this shit.

So I just say, "Wow. Well you're like the creator of 'Spiderman' then. That sucks?"

This seemed to satisfy him and he left.

I hopped into the car, left for the concert late, and realized as I was driving that I smelled something really bad. I look down and sure enough. I had dog shit all over me.

I can't think of a more appropriate end to this story.