Why Not to Talk To Strangers

Dear diary:

A while ago I was out on Whyte ave with Matt for a delicious lunch at Two Rooms.

After lunch I decide I need to walk to the other end of the avenue to get a body suit for my --- fantastic, by the way --- spanish bull costume for halloween. As we're walking due-west, I'm holding Matt's hand (I can be romantic!) and we walk past a rather gruff looking fellow sitting on a bench.

As soon as we pass, he starts yelling.

He yells at us, he yells, and says "HEY BUDDY, HEY. HEY WHY ARE YOU HOLDING MY GIRLFRIEND'S HAND LIKE THAT?"

LOL.

Matt brushes it off; dude's just being crayzay, right? But I can never resist an opportunity to yell at strangers.

(I MEAN, it says I like yelling at strangers RIGHT THERE in my blog description on the right panel.)

And I can't help it! I don't even know its happening until I feel my head turning around and I yell back: "I'M SORRY BABY, I'VE MOVED ON!"

"But I love you!" says the man

"I love you too," I say, and we keep walking. A woman sitting on the next bench overhears and says "He says that to everyone."

Damn, I felt special :(

LATER:

We're walking back to the car and have to pass the same bench, with same creepy man perched upon it.

Damn.

I try to keep a calm composure as we pass by him again. And things seem to be all peaches until, after we pass, Mr. Gruff pipes up again:

"DAMN LOOK AT THAT ASS, MMM BABY I'D LIKE A PIECE OF THAT ASS."

OKAY JUST BECAUSE I SAID I LOVE YOU DOESN'T MEAN IT WAS GENUINE.

Lesson learned, Larissa, lesson learned.

Whats in a name?

Good afternoon (non-existent) fans!

As usual I haven't blogged lately, but that doesn't negate the fact I lead a CRAZY ENTERTAINING AND AMAZING LIFE, turns out I'm lazy.

TODAY'S BLOG ENTRY IS A CONVERSATION WITH HB ABOUT GENTLEMANLY NAMES:

Larissa: "If I have a kid, I wanna name him Finnaeus. Fin for short."

HB: "Fin like THE END or Finn?"

Larissa: "Finn*"

HB: "The End would have been better."

HB: "Because a child is the end of your social life."

WORDS OF WISDOM.

Lets pay our respects..

The other day I was taking my dog for a romp at the local off-leash park, a wonderful place filled with trees and trails and doggies galore!

On our journey's I saw a crudely made wooden cross stuck in the ground near some bushes and I walked closer to see what the poop was up.
Upon further inspection, I see that its a little grave, freshly dug surely as there's some wilted daisies laid on top.
Marking it is a cross made of leftover plywood, filled with children's writing, mostly about "Jesus loves you, Peanut" and "You were very stinky but you were a cute hamster."

Breakin' my heart.

Naturally I pull out my cell phone to document this morose moment.
As I'm fumbling around in my pocket to grab the phone, my dog surely catches on to what's happening and shoves his nose into the dirt covering the shallow grave.

"NO SATCHEL," I yell and pull him back.
SATCHEL, NO, PEANUT DIDN'T DESERVE THIS.

Why would you bury your dead hamster in a locale extremely populated by animals with swift digging paws of various sizes? Surely Peanut's apparent stench doesn't help the situation.
Admittedly I contemplated putting some sort of log over the grave site to avoid a potential (and scarring) "Peanut; Unearthed and on the Path" incident, should the owner come back to pay respects, but apparently didn't sympathize enough to bother.

On the plus side, I was alerted to the fact that its spelled "HAMSTER" and not "HAMPSTER."
I guess I'm learning the wrong lessons in life.

LONG LIVE PEANUT.