June 27th, 2014

Dear Diary,

It is a monumental day. It is the day that I was born. Tiny little Beans Aloysious Wienerdog sprang forth onto this Earth demanding treats, snuggles and fluffy bed (which is on a pillow which is on a sofa which is on a thick ply carpet... I'm the Princess and the Pea of wienerdogs, diary). I dare not say how old I am... But look and me and DAMN! I look good, so what the heck. I am 10. That's right, the big 1-0. The double digits. The top of the hill in the over the hill scale. Misery.

 Stunning. Amiright??? But there is a little hitch in my giddeup there. Embarrassing.

So it's time for a mid life crisis.

OMG YOU GUYS!!!! Will I still be able to eat cloth wear with the same fervor as before?!?!?! Will I be able to eat a 2 lb wheel of smoked gouda cheese in 1.3 seconds?!?!?! Will I start to like French dogs?!?! Ugh. I can't think about these things. I must continue to live each day like I always have: like I'm the goddamn center of the universe. I have a small list of demands of which I'll present to Soft Touch and Mother Person tonight.

1. Access to the refrigerator. If that little person gets to run around with reckless abandon asking for copious amounts of fruit and cheese, I should be able to get in there and hit the salted meats. We're going to need some gadget to make this happen, as these T-Rex arms aren't going to cut it. Perhaps I bark twice, door opens. What could go wrong?!?!?! At least after I bark at the evil hallway monsters (who have yet to attack the home thanks to my vigorous vocalism, thank you very much), I'll get some meat to calm me down and refuel. This is just good sense.

2. A new bed. Don't they ever wonder why I eat my bed in approximately 3 weeks after getting it? It's because they're bullshit. (Not that I'd eat bullshit, I am a gentleman and have my limits!!!!! It's just a turn of phrase, diary.) I want a feathertop, spaceman foam extravaganza with a little elf who tucks a down blanket over my loppy-eared head at 9:30pm every night. But don't worry, I'll still wake up Soft Touch at 4am to get into their bed. I think he really likes that. Who doesn't like waking up at 4am?

Look how awful this is!!!!!!! 

3. Retirement account. Sure, I've never earned a dime my whole life, and I've probably given Mother Person 49 heart attacks rushing me to the emergency night vet... and then 49 more heart attacks when she saw the bills. But, I need to start planning for my retirement home which rotates with the sun and is always 75 with a light breezy. And socks fall from the trees.

4. Sleep-away camp for the munchkin. I seriously can't believe they're keeping that kid... I liked him for a while with the food dropping and the peanut butter laden face... but he's getting older and tidier and that does NOT work for me.

5. Just kill the vacuum cleaner already. Injustice!

6. A unicorn. How are these not a thing yet?? It's 2014!! Scientists and veterinarians??? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WITH ALL YOUR TIME?!?!?! Injustice. #MakeUnicornsAPriority

7. Jeez Louise. It's hard work making lists. I think I need a secretary. At least a Siri that will understand my accent. More misery.

8. I would like more treats when I do cute things. And not just like a "here, lick out the peanut butter jar," because that's just the people being lazy and mumbling about recycling laws... I want a tartare. Beef. Salmon. I don't care, but let's bring up the A-game shall we???

This is steak dinner cute right here. And I didn't bite him!! 

I think this is a comprehensive list of my complaints and needs. I didn't put a Ferrari and a garish watch on this list as that's just too stereotypical.... and I will not be typical in ANY way. And who are we kidding, I haven't seen my wrists in years. This nose, those legs. It's a physical impossibility... But my elf who tucks me in at night could read it for me... Give him another job, and I'll look bangin'. Ok, #9. A garish watch with dials and knobs that no one understands but says to the world, Don't mess with him!!! He's got a giant watch!! 

Happy birthday to me. I'll let you know if there's meat cake, diary. I won't hold me breath, though. Misery. 

Yours, 

Beans A. Wienerdog

August 15, 2014

Dear Diary,

I saw something disturbing. Not just mother-person eating frosting straight from the can at 10:35pm like she was a rabid raccoon in need of a sugar high... It was something on the internet. I know! I thought the internet was just full of convenience items like Omaha steaks, wag.com, and on-line poker. But apparently there's this new thing the "kids" are into called BuzzFeed. It has NOTHING to do with feeding at ALL. There's no free samples of liver treats sent to your home. There are no frozen peanut butter balls. No Flintstone's style rack of ribs delivered. Misery. Instead it's just lists. I mean, really. Lists? It was harmless banality until yesterday.

Picture it: I was lounging on the couch, lamenting the fact that my lousy parents can't buy an apartment with floor to ceiling windows that's built on a lazy susan that is in sync with the rotation of the Earth to provide a direct sunny spot all day long. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM!?! Seriously, how hard is this?!?!! Why do I have to think of EVERYTHING. Injustice. Alas... I was lounging-- sans sun so it wasn't a GREAT lounge, but I think I've belabored that point-- and I decided I should check out my stock portfolio. I grab the iPad that the mini person has covered in unknown sticky things. So I got a snack at least, that was a positive. I opened up the browser and SACRE BLEU!!!!! This is the headline I saw:  24 Things Your Dachshund Can Do For You. I wept, openly. (Which made me very snoozy so I took a nap.) Upon my waking, I got hopping mad. (I did not hop, as that would make me even snoozier.) 24 things?!?!?!?!! Why on Earth should I have to do ANYTHING for you, let alone 24?!?!?!?! Then I looked more closely. It. Was. Horrifying. It should have been called, "24 Things Batshit Goofy People Have Done to Their Delightful Dachshund Who Put Up With It Even When They Should Have Bit Them And Filed A Legal Suit." It could have been something a bit more pithy, but I'm under duress here... It's the best I can do.

Look at this.

It looks JUST LIKE ME, only we all know it's not as my eyebrows are more expressive and I WILL NEVER WEAR A HAT. That it the ultimate injustice. INJUSTICE!!!!

How miserable does this little thing look???

There better be a treat involved in this nonsense or I will eat your toes in your sleep.

This is just blatantly illegal. 

There are somethings up with I cannot put, Diary!!!!!! Oh sweet misery.... What has the world come too?????

The injustice is just too great... I feel I must put my own list together... But then I'd just be contributing to this list making bullshittery... And it sounds like a lot of work. Like a LOT. And I'm not so good with the dragging and dropping of photos. (T-Rex arms, damn you!!!!!)

Ugh. I'll do back to sleeping. Sans sun. Dreaming of better days. Misery.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

June 27, 2013

Dear Diary,

June 27th.... Does that date ring any bells, Diary? No? Let me give you an hour to remember... That's how long it took Mother Person to remember that today is THE DAY OF MY BIRTH!!! But apparently I'm the Molly Ringwald of the 9 year olds. Misery. Did I get woken up by a giant birthday ham fall from the ceiling??? Did I get a parade and bacon wrapped socks??? NO. I got NADA. Injustice. I got my same ol' kibble, in my same ol' bowl (no crystal?? no Steuben???) from that same bleary eyed Soft Touch. And then... an HOUR after I'd done my business, eaten, read the paper and was settling in for my morning nap, Mother Person bursts out the shower-- her hair in an appalling turban thing-- saying "BEANS!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!"

Really.

She gave me pity snuggles. She rubbed my belly with her guilt ridden hands. She woooja-woojaed my sweet face with such desperation I nearly threw up the 3 socks I'd been storing up for such an occasion. With my age, comes wisdom, so I did not vomit on the couch during her affections. I thought that would lower my possibilities for a treat. Apparently, it makes no difference to this cold hearted dingbat, as again, I GOT NADA. Injustice. (I will throw them up tomorrow. On a pillow. Mark my words.)

But alas... Today I, and I alone, will celebrate that 9 hallowed years ago in the hamlet of Mountain Top, Pennsylvania, I burst forth into this world in all my short but long glory. Full of dreams, hopes, and the desire to eat anything and everything that crosses my path. (I regret that earbud though...)

So dynamic. So glorious. 

Look at me. Have you ever seen something more beautiful in your life??! Move over Ryan Gosling. Your time is up!!! (Although, you are better at the wife beater/suspenders look. Damn my lack of shoulders!!!!!)

I hope tonight Mother Person regales me with salted meats. Or tells me that we're FINALLY giving the Tiny Human and the vacuum cleaner to the circus. A pup can dream... a pup can dream... 

Sincerely, 

Beans A. Wienerdog

June 19th, 2013

Dear Diary,

I have been treatless for days now. Snuggle-less for months. Well, other than the ones that Mother Person, mini-person and Soft Touch have given me... Misery. They went on vacation for a weekend and didn't take me because I "pee" on "rugs" and "steal food" and "generally act like a small goat." I heard there was a pool where they went. Disgusting. Basically a giant bath tub where you have to exercise. That is the worst paring I've EVER heard of. Worse than Kanye and Kim! (That is saying something...) So, whatever. I guess I dodged that bullet.

Something lightened my mood today. Briefly. While checking out my stock portfolio and perusing the Joss and Main offerings, I noticed THIS. I am cute. Very cute. I am the standard barer for cute. These are all slightly below my cuteness, but closer than I've ever seen. Some do break my rule of NO SHOES, but at least they're slippers... I am confident that these images will never bump me off my pedestal of amazingness. But I may go buy some duck slippers just to make sure...

Imagine this as me, only cuter. 

Ta ta for now. TTFN? OH!!! That's what that means!!! No kidding. Huh. I learned something today.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

June 13, 2013

Dear Diary,

I may have finally done it. I may have finally sent Mother Person into fits of insanity. (It wasn't a long drive, lemme tell ya...) I allegedly jumped up on the dining table and borrowed the mini-human's breakfast. Honestly, if you feed the kid peanut butter, you need to teach him to be vigilant. He can't just pick up his milk cup and not think that his toast covered with the nectar of the gods will still be there when he puts that cup down. Be a better parent, Mother Person. How does this make me a BAD DOG??! Injustice!!!

She truly has no appreciation for all that I do for her. A very very strange man that came from the land of the hallway monsters came to the apartment. He was looking at ALL our stuff and writing it down!!! What the heck is this?!?! PRISM in my own home!!! Well, I had to fight back!! And this guy happened to have packed his own lunch (how quaint) and left it in his work bag on the floor (how foolish). So I ate it. It was the only way I could think to teach this guy a lesson that 1) you do not enter my home ever, 2) you don't pack Cheez-its for lunch when you're a GROWN ASS MAN, 3) don't say, "oh what a cute little fella!" I'm a regal creature. And I really like Cheez-its. Mother Person said he was from a moving company and we were hoping to get a "good price" and me "eating his lunch" didn't ingratiate us in his eyes. What a drama queen.

And if all that wasn't BAD enough. The sun wasn't long enough today.

Note how these pillows aren't fluffed. Misery.

I took this photo while I was watching Kelly & Michael this am. (Don't judge me.) Jerry Seinfeld was on and said he has 2 wienerdogs, and one doesn't like him. Those are odds that you should be very happy with, Funny Man. One is named after a player for the Mets?! <smacks forhead> (Ok, I can't smack my forehead. Damn you, T-Rex arms!!!!... but I smacked my forehead in my mind.)

I need to rest. All this smacking not to mention those Cheez-its and the 2 socks that are currently in my digestive track duking it out like Ryan Lochte and his grasp of the English language. Unsavory.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

June 5, 2013

Dear Diary, 

FLABBERGASTED. I am aghast. What has happened to the left wing liberal elite media?!?!? Do they not fact check anything anymore?!?!??!!! From Petwatchman.com... titled The Top Three most aggressive dogs... 

"The top ranking dog breed, out of the 33 dogs surveyed, to be the most aggressive is…the Dachshund. Wow! I would never have thought, much less, consider it the most aggressive dog breed. The study found that "one out of five dachshunds have bitten or tried to bite strangers, and a similar number have attacked other dogs; one in 12 have snapped at their owners.”"

First... I left their punctuation in there.. which is ABYSMAL. All those quotes? Really. Try some italics, Captain Mudslinger. And what hard news piece interjects the word, Wow! Stop it. You're embarrassing yourself. Misery.

And yes, you "never would have thought..." I think that sums up everything. You didn't think. Did you SPEAK to any of these "agressive" Dachshunds?! Did you speak to these strangers who were ALLEGEDLY bitten?? On a scale of "extremely bright" to "can't find their ass with both hands", where are these stranger?! Have these strangers ever been 6 inches tall and walked around in a world where human things are a good 5 feet taller than them???  Have they ever had that giant face come down from high atop stocky shoulders right into their face to say, "This looks like a hotdog!!!" I DEFY YOU TO NOT WANT TO BITE THAT NOSE. It's horrifying, insulting, and frankly, bad manners. If that's agression, than we live in a sad world where human things think that dogs should obey them. 

Wait... what was that diary?? Dogs are suppose to be obedient?!?! TO WHOM? Since when??? Injustice. I answer to no one but my inner spirit that tells me all the things I need to know: always sleep in the sun, dance like no one is watching, bacon bacon bacon, and don't swim 30 minutes after eating socks. 

I hereby boycott Petwatchman.com and all their tom foolery that they call journalism. I will go back to reading my Dachshund sub-reddit and completely my French homework for tomorrow. 

Sincerely, 
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 26, 2013

Dear Diary,

INJUSTICE!!! Why didn't I think of this??

Misery. 

Sincerely, 

Beans A. Wienerdog

March 19, 2013

Dear Diary,

I smiled today. I know, amazing. I can't believe it either. While shopping for gourmet cheeses on line, I got off the beaten path and ended up on YouTube. As one does. And I came across this GEM. Sweet Florida blueberries!! I could watch this all day. Silly humans. Thinking that all dogs were put on this Earth to catch things. Why would we do this? You're throwing MY stuff. And I should go catch it? The mini-person throws his dinner all over the floor. He doesn't say, "Go get it!! Go get it!! Catch it! Come on! Good Mama!" No. No is doesn't. And if he did, boy howdy there would be hell to pay. So why is it ok for dogs?!?!? Injustice.

I do feel for this little pup. Being that I can read "dog," I'll let you in on what this dog was thinking. "Oh lordy, I have to catch this? Ugh. Fine. Ok, I'll trrryyyy.... and! I fell over. I think I'll just stay here for a minute to see if they feel bad... NOPE! Not  feeling bad. Laughing. Swell."

He's doomed to a life of learning how to catch and being haunted by the laughs of the humans as his fuzzy non-weeble body falls to the ground time and time again. Me? I just watch the stuff the humans toss go right past me. And then look at them with my best, "You disgust me," look. And I saunter off. (Perhaps a spite poo is in order?)

I haven't said misery once in this entry! What's happening to me? Misery. Oh phew. There it is.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 13, 2013

Dear Diary,

There is a news story today about a dog that ate 111 pennies.

He's alive. Injustice. Huzzah another dumb terrier wondering around eating change who MAKES THE NEWS. I do amazing things ALL THE TIME and where is my press??? Why does Victoria Secret not sponsor me? I keep them in business for goodness sakes. Mother Person has a VS gold card thanks to me and my "habit." What do I get out of it? Nothing. Misery.

But alas, Penny Pooch, here are some tips. Eat things that don't kill you. (Other than grapes and chocolate, they're delicious and totally worth it.) Pennies?!? Ugh. They are much too tart and the aftertaste is off putting. Now, you know what tastes good? 20 dolla bills, y'all. Hundreds are gourmet divinity, if you can get your muzzle on them. Sure, it causes some commotion from the people. But usually in the, "Where did I put that!!?!!?" rather than, "YOU ARE A TERRIBLE DOG!" So that's a win-win in my book. If I can cough it up whole, let it dry out and then "find" it for her, I sometimes get a treat. And THAT my friend, is how a pro does this. So lay off the pennies. They're heavy. They're not even going to be currency much longer. They're not even that shiny. It's stupid. And most importantly, it's NOT NEWS WORTHY. I certainly hope the AP just calms down for a hot second and recognizes how cute and adorable I am.

I mean, can you stand it? The wisdom behind those eyes. Blinding.

Till later, Diary. The misery, I'm sure, will continue.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 8, 2013

Dear Diary,

Misery. 

This is so metaphorical for my life. I try to find some warmth and comfort on this cold ball of mud called Earth. I find something fuzzy, fluffy even. I snuggle in, feeling the safety of the organic cotton swaddling my sinewy body. AND BOOM!! I'm in an arm hole. What is that?!!? Who does that?!?! Oh, people with arms. Sure. Sure, rub it in that I and the mighty T-Rex share the same leg to body length ratio issues. I see the memes. I know I'm the butt of jokes. That's on-line hazing people. Injustice. 

Things haven't changed much. Same ol' same ol'. Sleep. Snuggle. Throw up a pile of thread from left over socks stuck in the gullet. Read the NY Times Real Estate section. Sniff. Repeat. The mini-person is "potty training" now. Mother Person and Soft Touch think he's just "soooo clever." Not for nothing, but I was paper trained in a weekend. When I was 12 weeks old. Why the arrested development with this one?!?! (Now I have the song "Tennessee" in my head, and a penchant to upgrade my Netflix account...) I mean, sure, I happy wee sometimes. I spite poo more than I wish I had to. I rarely spite wee anymore. (Results aren't as satisfying.) The mini thing is more than happy to point out my spite poos and run around the apartment all pell mell about "bad wiener dog! bad wiener dog!!" AM I THE BAD ONE?!?! Or is that horrendous mother of mine who only gave me 27 seconds of snuggles and love when she came home?? Injustice!!! I deserve 45 on the SHORT end. Truly it should be more like 5 minutes, unless you bore me then it's fine if I leave. You deny me snuggles, you get a deuce in the middle of the bathmat. That's how this goes. Get used to it. Misery.

I have to go source a decent blanket. And I better get a handful of treats tonight, or bathmats beware. 

Sincerely, 

Beans A. Wienerdog 

August 25th, 2012

Dear Diary,

It is a dark dark day. The internet has always been my happy haven for on-line poker, ordering Omaha Steaks, and laughing at cat videos (cats are so dumb!!!). But now, there is a black hole of misery and injustice that is ruining the internet AS WE KNOW IT. Hateful speech and discrimination!!!! Dog-shaming.com. WHAT IS THIS!??!!? People finding fault in dogs?!?!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!  What is even WORSE is that people are asking Mother-Person to put ME on there. ME. Beans Aloysius Wienerdog. INJUSTICE.

I won't have it. So I am fighting back the only way I know how: to act first.

Take that internet. Take that people. You can't shame me!! I SHAME YOU FIRST. Neener neener.  (And yes, that is my nose moisture on the paper. It's hard getting things out of a printer when you don't have thumbs.)

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

May 4th, 2012

Dear Diary,

There is no sun now.
What great misery I feel.
Cold sorrow soaks in.

See that, Diary? I'm forced to speak in haikus now. THAT'S HOW BAD IT IS. The hallway monsters were bowling last night and making me VERY nervous. Mother person explained it as thunder. I looked at her perplexed. I thought thunder was a derogatory way to explain thighs. I don't even know what goes through her head anymore.

She bought another vacuum cleaner. Why. Why must she do this!??! Why doesn't she just get rid of the thing that makes the mess that requires said vacuum cleaning?! Don't you say it, Diary. I do not shed. Stop judging me.

Misery is sad.
I have no justice anymore.
Vacuum you suck bad.

Oh, that one even rhymed. Nice touch if I do say so myself. And a pun? Wow, I think I've really hit my stride on these.

I am so pretty.
Long ears and snout are so grand.
Please give me bacon.

Must rest. All this creativity wears me out.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

April 11th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Now I've done it. Boy howdy. Why am I so bad? Why is what I do considered to be "bad"? Why isn't it applauded as free thinking? Why is opening a closet door, ripping open a plastic bag, and then eating 5 oz of 72% pure dark chocolate considered a "bad" thing. On the contrary I think is shows: initiative, cunning, understanding of physics, and an advanced palate. Believe me, other canines can't figure out these things. I was with Squeak the Chihuahua. (I forget her real name, but it doesn't matter. She's a divot with hair who squeaks ALL THE BLOODY FLIPPIN' TIME. She will not pull it together and for that, I have no patience.) Squeak was all, "Hey! Whatcha doing?! What's going on? IS THAT A SHADOW?! I AM AFRAID OF SHADOWS! IS THAT A REFLECTION?!? HEAD FOR THE HILLS!!" I'm all, "Chillax. If you put your knobby head right there and push, we can get this door open and help ourselves to the chocolate buffet." She was on board, as she listens to everything I say. Bless her. So, knobby head went in, the door moved! Huzzah! Then she fell right into my plan, "Is that a plastic bag? Oh I do so love to play with the plastic bag! May I play with the plastic bag with the swishy swishy swishy noise and the pulling and the ripping? Oh please may I?" Well, who was I to dash her dreams!! Rip away, fuzzball! And so she did, and then the chocolate presented itself and we dug in. I admit, she moved on to the chocolate faster that I thought she would. I thought I'd have a good head start, what with her bag obsession and all... But we both chowed down pretty good. I was quite pleased!!! Then, the people came home. The crying. The waving of hands. The panic and hysteria! The flapping to get us to the... VET.  Why? To find out how I'm so incredibly brilliant so it can be documented for medical history? To get Squeak's vocal chords snipped? Oh diary, you'll never guess what they did... They... They... Sorry. I am a bevy of emotion!! Where is my embroidered hanky?!?!... they made me throw up... INTO A BUCKET. Like a common frat boy on a Friday night!! MISERY. They didn't even hold my ears back. Injustice.

Apparently, they're all "concerned" about "heart failure" when "dogs" "eat" "too much" of the "dark chocolate." What do I have to say about that? Poppycock!!!! That's right. When's the last time you heard that phrase? Well, I'm bringing it back as I feel it's appropriate. You make me throw up glorious deliciousness and then make me sleep overnight with IV fluids, I will yell poppycock at you.

This is me the next day. Like Tiny Tim! Why would a genius like me be reduced to a pathetic Tiny Tim! INJUSTICE.

Terrible. Just terrible. Yellow isn't my color. I'm hopping. Dachshunds are good with the hopping. We just look silly, and THAT is VERY UPSETTING. My image team is very disappointed with this. So please, diary, don't share this with anyone.

Misery.

For the record, I got no treats to make up for all the food I was forced to upturn. Injustice.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 28th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Oh my stars, Diary. You know how I hate to be catty. I find that very unbecoming a proper Wienerdog as myself. BUT, that little trollop of Bogart, has sunk to levels I never thought a Wiener could sink. And coming from animals with less than one inch ground clearance, this is REALLY saying something. Trollop's name is Dolly. Ridiculous. Dolly wrote me a letter via Mother Person's Bookface page. Facebook? Whatever. On the internet super high way her words come careening towards my already broken heart. Here is the attached photo and her text:

Dear Beans-- whose soft terry cloth "Oprah's favorite thing" robe am I sitting, you may stop licking your lack of balls to ask yourself? That's right. Sam's. And what's that in the background? No, it's not a 4x3 ft linai you can barely fit a pee pad on. It's a yard. And who pray tell is sniffing my gorgeous arese? The BUBS and he loves it-- jealous?? In respond to your delightful literature in which you so sadly pretend you are some sort of Ariana Woofington, may I just say this: no one cares what you have to say. Despite your clever phrasing and alliteration. Save it for your memoir. Which I'm sure will be titled: Diary of a Mad Black Weenie. To that-- I give you this coy side glance. Interpret how you will. And stay away from my man. Signed, Dolly


SACRED BLEU! It's worse than I thought. She must be holding our Bogart, aka "The Bubs" hostage. It's like the Hunger Games *SPOILER ALERT UNLESS YOU HAVE READ PAST PAGE 148 IN BOOK 3* when Peeta goes all goofy. Bogart, my simple little mutt, you just don't know what's happened to you. Forcing you into early marriage. Silly clothes. No devil pigs. I can't help but think of this Dolly as our Yoko. Oh misery. Terrible misery. Like a sock just out of reach... Or a chicken bone on the street that I'm forbidden to eat. (Why do people eat bone in chicken on the street, btw?!?) It's all unfair. And those words... oh how they cut me... But come on, of COURSE people want to know what I have to say. That's just ridiculous to think otherwise. Clearly, she is delusional. With a very long snout.

I do admit, I miss her Man Person, Sam, and his exceptionally soft robe. That Oprah knows a thing or two about comfort... and I don't think a chicken bone has ever been out of HER reach, know what i'm saying? That's right, a fat joke. That Dolly has shaken me to the core and I'm reduced to making FAT JOKES. About OPRAH. Where is my fainting couch?? I must rest. I need a lime seltzer and a nap. Maybe then, this will all stop.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 27th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Um, no. Whoever coined this trite phrase never met a wienerdog. Especially THIS wienerdog. My heart is broken in a million little pieces. I haven't gone to pilates in a week, and I can't bare to even look at my French homework. WHY you ask? Look at this filth.

See that fetching character on the right in the bow tie? THAT is my former best friend forever, or BFF as the kids say. Bogart. Look at his luscious ears!! There may not be much between said floppy ears, but that Bogle (part dog, part Beagle) was my dear friend. We would vacation together while my people were out of town (ie they deserted me with nice people who loved me, but "deserted" I certainly was, none the less.) I would sleep in Bogart's bed, he'd get the floor.  I'd play with his squeaky devil pig, he'd watch. He'd find me socks to munch on, I'd let him.  It was a good relationship. He moved to Louisiana a little while ago and apparently, fell in with a bad crowd. And replaced me. With that. Another wienerdog. Injustice.

Not only is this wiener not of my superior coloring. She's a GIRL. ICKY! BLEH!!! And she makes him wear funny clothing!!!!! What is this, role playing?!?! It's not right, I tell you. Not right at all!!! He should only be taking orders from ME!!! That is how this friendship worked out so perfectly!!!! MISERY!!! I would never make him wear a bow tie. That's not edible at all. What a waste! And it doesn't even keep your little hound body warm. This is only worn to delight the humans. Terrible. What's next, Bogart? Fetching their balls and herding their sheep? You'll be a slave to them!!! It's bad enough we have to work CONSTANTLY to ward off the hallway monsters and the vacuum cleaner gnomes. You've turned into a puppet... And I blame that lady friend! She's not properly advising you on how to be a hound. She may not really be a real wienerdog at all. Maybe some Swedish knock off or something. I don't see "stern German" coming from her...  I shudder to think about it.

Now who's my best friend? The whiney Beagle across the hall? The Chihuahua that barks at shadows?! The hapless labrador? Who can I boss around?!?! WHO WHO WHO?! Misery.

I will lie on the couch, taking up more room than one thought possible, while my heart aches like no other heart has ached before. A lamb chop would really hit the spot about now.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 9th, 2012

Dear Diary, 

Diary. Look at this. 

Is this wiener dog prettier than me?!?!??! Wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to know... From this angle you can't see his/her bum swirls... I have divine bum swirls. If my front paws weren't so short, I could take a photo for you, but alas. That's right, laugh it up, Diary!! I can't find my ass with both paws. Injustice. Sigh. Those spots are terribly pretty. I could have been in that Cartier commercial. Why didn't they think of me?! Misery.

I haven't diary-ed in a while... just, so sad. I went on a sock binge. The mini person moved his sock drawer, and the dumb human people have all his stuff in bins that slide out, with no lids. What do they think I am, a retriever?! A trainable and affable dog that isn't ruled by a small evil German brain?! Have they even met me? So, yes, of course, I got into said sock drawer and munched through them like Mother Person when see gets a whiff of tater tots. (Which she DOES NOT share. Who has the evil brain now, hmmmm?) But, yes, I threw up 6 socks one day, and 2 the next. The 2 even surprised me! There we were having our Daily Show cuddle and I felt a gurgle. Next thing you know, there are 2 dead socks on the couch. Mother Person was visibly disturbed. Soft Touch even gave a little yelp. Who knew I had 2 more in me?! Where do I store them!? It's a mystery. I am a marvel, that's all I can say.

I have stopped counting the amount of treats and cuddles I recieve. My therapist said I should concentrate on the positive. I think that was her way of saying, "These jerky treats are mine and I'm not sharing." That session definitely wasn't worth the co-pay. Misery continues.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

February 15, 2012

Dear Diary,

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!

Ok. Deep breaths. Maybe that's a bad angle...

Nope. Not the angle. It looks like that stupid vacuum robot covered in hair!!!! That's not a dog!!!! And that vacuum is evil and demented and must be smashed. I don't trust it. And don't cover it in hair and think that I can be fooled! I digress...

This is a dog....

She's me on stilts! She's German!! (Ok, her name is Fifi, but she's German at heart...) THAT is a dog. It's not as great as this Dachshund....

But. Whatever. Injustice. Why should I be so surprised at life being so horrible to me?? Did I get a consolation steak last night??? No. Did I get snuggled all night? Oh, yeah, I did... BAH. I don't even get to complain about lack of snuggles!!!!!! MISERY. 

I need to eat some socks. 

Sincerely, 

Beans A. Wienerdog

February 14, 2012

Dear Diary,

Valentine's Day. Or, the memorial of the day I lost those 2 little dangly bits. That's right, I was neutered on Valentine's Day. While my Mother Person went to the Westminster Dog show and whored herself out with other dogs. I think that pretty much sums up my life. Misery. Oh sure, she coddled and snuggled me after I came home and I got "special" treats for awhile... but that was just her GUILT. Her GUILT for fraternizing with other dogs who still have dangly bits. She told me I was prettier than them.... and she's right. So, at least she's not blind. There's a win.

I have to admit, I am VERY excited as this year the wire-haired Dachshund won the hound group!!!! OH THE EXCITEMENT!!! Sure, they're inferior to the smooth coated, but heck. A Wiener recognition is a Wiener recognition and I'll take it. I mean, basically, the dog looks like me, only as an old man.

Good luck, Raydachs Playing With Fire V Glesihorbach. (That's a mouthful.) It should be noted that her   sister's name is Wire Wire Pants on Fire, which is fairly awesome. Anywho.... Make us proud, you little bitch! (Rarely does one get to say that and not get yelled at for salty language.) 


I better get treats tonight... Ugh. Probably won't. Misery. And apparently I can't see in 2-dimensions so I can't watch the finals on TV? INJUSTICE!!!!! Don't tell me what I can do or not do!!! And if I have to hear Mother Person squeal over the big dumb Labradors, I may need to break out the Scotch. 


Sincerely, 
Beans A. Wienerdog

January 25th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Socks consumed: 3
Underwear consumed: 1 (but it was a thong, so really, .5)
Treats consumed: Why do I bother counting?? It's so depressing.
Injustices: Lost count, but an educated guess would be 637
Stupid shirts forced to wear: 1

DO YOU SEE THIS??! My Mother Person forced me (and the whole bloomin' household) to wear goofy shirts to support "her team." I would like to note that I don't force her to wear "LET'S GO BACON!!" shirts, or "SOCKS ARE YUMMY!" Ok, she may actually have the bacon shirt... But I don't force her to wear it. I have several issues with this forced clothing. 1, not my coloring. Grey?? Honestly. 2, the cut. This is a v-neck. A V-NECK. I look like a common mall-goer in Northern Jersey! It was terrible!!! My hairy chest bulging out. Embarrassing. I never ever wished in my life that I had a dickie until then. A nice mock turtle neck? Something. Terrible. Misery.

As if that wasn't enough, Mother Person starts rolling out a feast for all the sports show watchers. This lady hasn't make anything more exotic than a Hot Pocket since Mini Person came along but that day? She made a lasagna, from SCRATCH and what did I get??? Hmm? Nothing? Did you guess nothing?! That would be correct. INJUSTICE!!!!!!

Ok, well, I did get this....

That would be one of those condescending toys that have this "treat" in a ball that's impossible to eat and is suppose to keep me "occupied" so I don't cause "problems." (Note Mini Person's shirt... He didn't even know the propaganda machine that she turned him into for an evening. Sad.) Can you see the plate in the foreground? That dish holds delicious chips and dips, but I'm relegated to the FLOOR to eat this meat lick ridiculousness. Say it with me now... Injustice.

So, that night, I threw up a 3:34am. Neener neener neener.

But alas, not only did I interrupt the people's sleep, but it wore me out.

Gosh, I'm cute when I'm cozy. I wish I had a Queen bed all to my own all the time. Someday... Someday.... On my wienerdog farm where meat licks are outlawed and lasagna is served every hour on the hour.

Sigh.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

January 9th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Injustices: 3905
Periods of Misery: 85
Treats: 2 (Ok, maybe more, but I can barely tell I ate them)

Another year shot in the ass. And here I am, still without any real estate holdings. The sun still moves. Vacuums still exist. I expected more for 2012. Thankfully, I can always count on Mother Person and Soft Touch to provide entertainment while the mini person runs circles around them. (That circle usually ends up with me getting my nose honked or a gooey baby kiss. Either way, misery.)

This morning was no exception. Soft Touch was "fixing" a toy with none other than a sock and super glue. Sure. Sure. I eat socks and I'm told I'm a "bad dog." He afixes it to the drive train of a toy car and he's "clever." UGH. You guessed it, injustice. So, all was going well in this sudden case of Johnny Fix-it, but then the mini-Human-tornado finished his yogurt and got out of his giant chair. What did that monkey do? You guessed it, made a beeline for the sock/superglue haven of sticky terribleness. NEVER have I heard Mother Person be so alarmed. HE'S GOING TO GLUE HIS HANDS TOGETHER!!!! Followed by a great deal of flapping and high pitched squeals about nail polish remover. (This lady hasn't worn nail polish since 2009, you know, when she got married and let herself go. Pathetic.) She picked up Tornado like a football and separated his hands-- not an easy thing. This kid likes to clap like nobody's business... But alas, she made it to the acetone (probably had to dust it off, next to the pile of mascaras and neglected beauty products)  before the munchkin became set in a permanent clap. Crisis averted!!! And while that happened, I got to hop on the giant chair and clean up some Cheerio remains. It was a win-win. Apparently, after your kid almost glues their hand together, seeing the dog in the high chair doesn't seem like as big a deal as it usually is. FINALLY, win 1 for the Wiener Dog.

I don't know why they took Martha Stewart off the air. I feel like she understood me. First Ricki, now this. Wherever will I find my classic tea towels?!?! Misery. I missed French class today. Merd. I can't miss pilates, though. My core is suffering.

Sincerely,
Beans A Wienerdog