I twisted B's arm yesterday and made him go to the little sushi restaurant I like. I had my favorite staple, the sunshine roll, which is unfindable in any of the other sushi joints around here, and he had chicken yakisoba. Usually when we can't agree on where to eat, we'll both compromise and go to a second choice that we can both actually agree on. Yesterday I was doing no such thing. When the stomach demands sunshine, the stomach gets sunshine.

After that we went into the pet store next door and stared at all the little doggies and birdies and kitties and snakies and spideries and ferreties and bunnies and fishies and wished our complex would allow pets.

The official rule is something like, you can have it if it fits in a 5 gallon tank or less, but this does not include snakies or spideries. Fishies only. I know a bunch of people living there last semester had dogs and cats, but I haven't seen very many pets around the complex lately, so they're probably enforcing the rule a little better now.

What. Ev. Er.

Anyway, B and I got into it over my love of golden retrievers. He thinks they have sad eyes. I explained to him that they're soulful. He also thinks they're too fuzzy (which is a ridiculous thing for a person who is not allergic to dogs to say), and so friendly they're almost idiotic. If he had to have a big dog, he says, he would like a vicious, murderous (those are my words) Alaskan wolfhound or something.

But he'd prefer a short, slick-haired, small dog.

I cannot stress this enough: I hate small dogs. If I wanted something cat or rat sized I would get a cat or a rat. I refuse. I adamantly refuse to own a small dog after enduring ownership of the holy terror that is Jasmine, my mom's jack russel terrier. If you don't think animals are capable of higher processes like evil sentient thought and spite, you're wrong about the spite part. Her favorite thing in the entire world is disobeying and then looking at you with a shit-eating dog-grin because she knows she's faster than you so what the fuck are you gonna do, human?

I mean, you know, she's a good dog otherwise, cuddly, playful, but just plain way too small for my tastes. I want a dog that could maul you to death if you fucked with it, not a dog you can drop kick if it tries any shit.

Hell. It doesn't have to be a golden retriever.

Deep down, though he won't say, I know what B really wants is a dire wolf, whereas I prefer a hellhound. We're different people with different tastes.

But I digress. Actually, I'm about to digress. At the pet store we visited, they allow their parrots to run amok atop the bird and rodent displays, and we found a pink and gray cockatoo sitting over by the guinea pigs, squawking his brains out, so we went over. When we got there, he shut up and started bouncing up and down, trying to get one of us to pick him up. I know how this store's parrots have a penchant for disobeying and eating parts of your clothing or skin and none of the employees of the store were around to protect us from his shenanigans, so we were wary to pick him up at first. He kept bouncing so finally B put out a hand. Parrot goes up his arm, across his shoulders, to perch on the opposite side and look at me. I pick him up then and try to put him down, but he bites me on the hand to prevent being set back on the display. It didn't hurt much, but man was it ugly. Now I have a little parrot hole. It has sentimental value. Poor guy just wanted some love.

And now I must go before my boss sees what I'm typing.