Dog Santa Hats

So it's been a hell of a weekend. A good weekend. I sit here in my Big Blue Socks™ and I eat my turkey sammitch and I watch my blinking Christmas lights and all is grand with the world.

The Sooners won a fantastic Bedlam game, and today they moved up to number two in the BCS, which means they'll play for the Big 12 title and a trip to the national championship game. My jazz is flipping tangible.

The only detriment is that I forgot to bring home any candied yams so I am at the moment yamless. My mom made some crazy good yams, too. Yams that were dreamlike in their goodness. Yams that a princess brings you on the back of a snow white horse from a mist covered lake in some enchanted otherworld. I will bring back those yams, and I will finish them. It is my destiny.

I am unable to go to Petco without getting a bag of stuff from the treat bar. I might one day break down and eat those dog treats. The Christmas cookies smell like real cookies. I've seen Charlie eat poop, I don't know why it makes any difference to him whether the red and green Christmas treats smell nice to me. I could eat them and he'd never know the difference. My Yorkie, Lou, she's picky about her treats, but still. I could have the cookies and nobody would know. Those treats from the treat bar are more for the people than the dogs.

I had a friend named David who'd come over and eat dog biscuits. We kept those multi-flavored Milk Bones, and he'd come over and pick out all the bacon ones. He was a weird cat. True story.

I just noticed that I have a follower! Look, over there! -------> Obviously HyperSexualGirl is a goddess with amazing taste in blogs. So, yanno, everybody salute her. 

I never thought I'd be the kind of person that put Santa hats on their dogs, but I found dog Santa hats, and, well...

I'm a weak, pitiful human being.

Please use the picture of puppy Fat Charlie and forget what I just said.

Be excellent.