Weekend roundup

hot pot, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Saturday night BK and I went to a restaurant called Fusion. We got to experience (a) really surly service, (b) overpriced, mediocre food, and (c) the cackling good times that were the pharmaceutical convention party at the table next to ours. On the bright side, I got to take this picture of BK spooning rice into his hot pot!

I would be remiss if I allowed the weekend to go by without sharing the story of BK closing the garage door onto his new car, so here goes:

The Story of BK Closing the Garage Door onto His Car

Saturday was a gorgeous day in Dallas, Texas, so of course we celebrated by going to the grocery store. We got home, pulled into the garage, BK swung the back door open, and we started carrying stuff inside. Buster would greet us at the door every trip we made, SO excited that the Big Dogs were back home -- maybe, just maybe, he'll get treats! Or a walk!

I guess BK got tired of making sure that Buster didn't run outside, because on one of his trips, he decided to close the garage door. Time shifted over into slow-motion -- I could see the garage door rolling down towards the CR-V, but I couldn't move, couldn't do a thing about it. I shrieked something -- I can't remember what exactly, but I'm pretty sure it was something along the lines of, "ARRRGGGHHH!!! No! Don't! The THING!" BK started frantically stabbing at the open/close button, but it was too late. The garage door had settled on top of his car door with a resounding crunch.

Just in case you might think that this is where this comedy of errors ends, allow me to share with you what happened next: as BK runs over to his car to inspect the damage and I'm making myself useful by standing there and shouting vaguely mean things, Buster takes that opportunity to wander out into the garage. I can't be 100% certain, but I think his thought processes went a little something like this:

"Huh. Look at that. No one is paying attention to me. Here I am in the garage. Outside is right there, and it smells really good. Ok, well, lemme just sidle on over here ... Pay no attention to the dog, nothing happening here ... Round the corner ... FREEDOM!"

That's when I hear BK yell, "Buster, NO!" and see him sprint off around the corner. I carry the rest of the groceries inside, inspect the car door damage (not bad), close the garage door, and start putting groceries away. Every few minutes I go outside and whistle for Buster, but neither he nor BK are anywhere to be seen.

BK and Buster come in about 20 minutes later. Buster's panting up a storm, wagging his tail, SO FUCKING PROUD OF HIS LITTLE SELF. BK on the other hand, is soaked with sweat and looking mad as HELL, people. I find out later that after BK chased Buster through all the backyards of the neighborhood, he finally had to tackle him to catch him. That's right, my grown-ass husband chased my sweet little puppy dog around the neighborhood and then TACKLED his ass. Then he half-carried/half-dragged the poor beastie home.

Let's just say that BK wasn't feeling a whole lot of love for Bus for the rest of the day.