Life is Good.

You know life is good when your roommate’s psycho minipoodle bites you on the hand, causing multiple puncture wounds and a loose flap of skin, but the dog’s just a big softie, really, when it bit the roomie’s sister, she didn’t get rabies, after all, and you have to go to the doctor for a tetanus shot and the doctor has to report the dog, which, if it doesn’t have papers about its shots, will be put down, and your roomie is an immature chain-smoking preggers pseudo-feminist (which means she gets to call people sexist pigs for spurious reasons but doesn’t have to live up to any ideals or anything) who will blame you when her damn dog gets put down.

Because, after all, you’re a guy.

I think less and less of this chick every day.