Of Interest

The Oscars get Fug'ed.

Michael Lucas will now officially be more insufferable than ever.

POZ magazine runs a pretty balanced article regarding serosorting.

Three words: Lesbian koala orgy.

What else?

We've been having a bit of controversy in my building of late. As I may have mentioned, since I went ahead and got a dog without checking with my landlord or "super", I set off an explosion in the dog population here. I think there's at least one dog on every floor. There are three on mine. Last week a notice went up from the "super" complaining that of late, some dog or dog(s) haven't been making it outside, and dog pee and poop have been found (and stepped in) in the hall. I understand the point, but it's pretty laughable, considering the hallways are swept and mopped at best once a month. They're filthy, and many of the tenants leave open bags of garbage outside their doors overnight, if not longer. It frequently looks and smells like a Third World slum. And that's not even mentioning how one of the lower floors frequently reeks of weed, or the last weekend, when I took Jet down for a walk and the lower floors and halls were littered with drunkenly tossed about popcorn.

In any case, I smugly noted to myself that my dog hasn't relieved himself in the building since I first got him. He's totally housebroken. Then Saturday night, one of my downstairs neighbors had a party. People were in and out, up and down the stairs, talking on cells. Jet had to go for his end of night walk, and we headed downstairs. He was ahead of me by three floors, and he usually just waits at the bottom. Unfortunately, there were three drunk girls in the vestibule, smoking and talking about four drinks too loud. Jet started to bark and charge the door. At which point he stood still and let loose a lake of dog piss.

"Sorry, I guess we scared him!" they hollered through the door.

"It's OK," I answered through clenched teeth.

So of course being the responsible neighbor and not wanting to give the "super" any ammunition (because I kind of hate him), I put Jet's leash on him and led him back up the 5 flights. He protested all the way, wanting to still go out. I grabbed a hand full of paper towels and trudged back down to clean up the mess. The girls were still outside, buzzing the party apartment and shaking the door to try to get in. Of course, this made Jet bark and lunge for the door some more. Finally. someone from the party heard the buzzer over the noise and let them in.

"Finally!"

"Be quiet Julie, you're drunk!"

"I wanna go back up stairs."

"Just don't drink anything for a while."

"I'm fine!"

"Julie, just don't."

Of course, they were too lit to be afraid of a riled up dog, and he just wanted to get away from the noisy drunks and get outside. In the morning, there was a watery drink in the bottom floor hallway, drinks spilled on the stairs, cigarette butts on the landings and some fresh dog poop that had been stepped in and tracked down a couple of stairs. I swear, Jet didn't do it. And in spite of the temptation, neither did I.