Well-trained dogs.

YES AND NO.

I like to go to my local dog park a lot, just to get some exercise and breathe a bit of fresh air, and not cry at all. And when I go to my local dog park, one of my absolute favourite things to do is get lost in the amazingness of a few well-trained dogs.

Heart cockles: WARMED.

Today, a man waited out the front of Sydney Park with his two dogs. They sat at his feet, unleashed, right next to roaring traffic. There was no bulging fear-vein on his forehead that they’d run onto the road. There was no “SIT SNAPPY SIT” spitting out of his mouth. There wasn’t even the patended “pushing your bum down til it makes contact with the floor in order to make you fucking sit like a proper dog”. No. These dogs were well-trained. The owner could rest easy, after years of obedience training getting in the way of quality time with his wife, the resultant squabbles chipping away at and eventually ending his marriage, and now leaving him alone with just Snappy and Shithead.

And I was impressed.

And yet, the flipside. After entering the park, and doing my requisite exercising/breathing/emotional stability chants, I sat down on a park bench. I was looking at the sunset and listening to some ‘inspirational dusk music’ when a little white terrier came snuffling up, seemingly smiling at me with its gummy little mouth, finding little yummy nuggets of beetles and bird shit and grass seeds to eat and maybe vomit up in a few hours on his owner’s living room floor. The owner was all, “Roderick! RODERICK! Come back here RIGHT NOW! Get away from the awkward girl who comes to the dog park every day, SANS DOG! Stop eating that shit! Stop being so badly-trained!”

This was the only dog who’d ventured towards my sentry post. All the others scented the vague whiff of dogsperation (that’s dog-desperation for the uninitiated) and went “nuh uh”. But this naughty, badly-trained lil scamp decided to wander off the beaten path, towards a possible dognapper disguised in an over-worn mustard jumper, just because he thought it’d be fun.

So I concede a tie here. After all, what is good training between friends? Especially as the person who never has to deal with the dog and its needs beyond a casual pat and hug? As far as I’m concerned: you’re all just dogs. And you’re WONDERFUL.

Lindsay Lohan’s Film Oeuvre

YES.

I’d like to take a quiet moment to reflect on all the rich and juicy life lessons we’ve learnt from Lindsay Lohan’s diverse body of films, and the ways in which they can inform us in everyday life.

Bitch is a right Elia Kazan.

 

Lessons include:

The Parent Trap: Family togetherness is a Good Thing, as are housekeepers, ranches, and your own fugly fashion line that includes BRIDAL HATS.

Labor Pains: Honesty is Really Important Too, I Guess.

I Know Who Killed Me: Sometimes life is ugly and badly acted.

Georgia Rule: Innocence, once lost, shat on, and stubbed into the ground with a stiletto heel you stole off a dead stripper, cannot be regained.

Just My Luck: Be careful who you kiss because like Wilmer Valderrama, Calum Best, Harry Morton, Stavros Niarchos, Riley Giles and more, they could FUCK UP your carefully planned life and start you on a long descent towards joblessness, jail time and a reality TV show with your robo-Mum Dina.

Herbie Fully Loaded: You, a woman, can do fucking anything. YOU FUCKING CAN, BITCH.

Mean Girls: Don’t be a douchebag if you’re not naturally a douchebag, because shit will backfire and bite you in the arse, and I’m mixing metaphors but you know what I mean. If you are naturally a douchebag, then go you good thing, don’t let me stop you.

Freaky Friday: Families are all very different and complicated in their own ways, and your family really does want the best for you, it’s just we live in really tough climes and communicate is never quite complete, yknow, and sometimes all it takes is a simple mother-daughter body swap with hilarious consequences to drill that point right on in.

Thank you Lindsay.