No matter what side of the aisle you’re on, basically everyone can agree that living in America is stressful as fuck right now. In fact, we could all probably use a permanent vacation, a lifetime supply of vodka, and a giant pile of puppies just to make it through the stress that has been the year 2017. And luckily, at least two of those are possible. Potcake Place, a dog rescue charity based in Providencia, Turks & Caicos, lets visitors to the island “adopt” stray puppies for the day. So please excuse me while I tell my family I’m actually going to Turks & Caicos for Christmas. They’ll understand.
By adopting a stray island puppy, you can help to socialize an uncivilized puppy (that makes them sound cuter IMHO), and the puppy can supervise an uncivilized you. It’s a match made in heaven.
And if you’re wondering wtf “potcake” means, potcakes are mixed-breed puppies native to several Caribbean islands. So basically, these puppies are exclusive island puppies you can only play with on vacay. I honestly didn’t know I could love something so much.
All you have to do to make your beach puppy dreams come true is to stop by the shelter and ask about a beach trip. They’ll arrange for you and your dream pup to take a walk down the beach and, obvs, will help you and your new potcake baby make it official once you inevitably fall in love and want to keep him forever. They’ll set you up with a vet and help you bring the puppy home, so you can come back from vacation with something more than a few cheap shot glasses and an STD for once.
Because I had no friends as a child I’m cool and literary, I’ve sadly had more than one conversation about the word “ambivalent.” For those of you fortunate enough to not be friends with me, here’s the problem with that word—much like self-tanner or sexting, the people using this word with the most confidence are really the least likely to be doing it correctly. If you say you’re “ambivalent” about something, it does NOT mean that you don’t give a shit (that word is “indifferent,” look it up): it means you have strong, contradictory feelings and you can’t pick a side. I could go more into why it makes total sense that this is what ambivalent means but I’d rather not get fired it’s not even slightly the point of this article so I’ll stop.
The ACTUAL POINT here is that I found something out that I’m really, truly ambivalent about: Chrissy Teigen has a new bulldog puppy (her fourth dog FYI), and it is considered actual, publishable news that she cannot decide whether to name him Paul or Pablo. Let’s break down my emotional timeline here.
Phase One: Chrissy Teigen’s Instagram Photo Announcing This Dilemma
Three days ago, Chrissy Teigen posts a photo of herself, a beautiful Sports Illustrated model, holding Paul/Pablo, a beautiful little velvet-faced bulldog puppy (note: I am not here for your treatise on the genealogical background of bulldogs. On the overall spectrum of ethical concerns I choose not to have, this falls way below things like my occasional shoplifting sprees laissez-faire recycling habits.) This photo pretty much sums up all my tortured, clashing emotions, because HELLO DOG SOULMATE, but also HELLO unattainable #hairskinfacegoals that I will never achieve because I enjoy doing things like eating 1,200 calories worth of peanut butter cups in my free time. Thanks for the reminder Chrissy—and you KNOW I’ve always wanted a puppy exactly like that, so this is clearly pointed AF.
Phase Two: Chrissy Teigen’s Instagram Caption Announcing This Dilemma
For those of you who are lazy to the point of site-specific illiteracy, here’s the caption accompanying that photo: “Super secret shooting with Paul. Or Pablo. We can’t decide. Both mom and Luna cannot pronounce Pablo. John won’t call him Paul. This freaking house, let me tell you.” Here, my ambivalence continues because this is a goddamn perfect caption without even being particularly clever or funny. It’s literally just a description of a current situation in her household, plus a half-sentence of the kind of rueful, effortless sass that can only be pulled off by people who are so deeply happy and at peace with themselves that even their sarcasm radiates the same general energy as tacking on “#blessed.” So, she’s somehow pulled off a caption that simultaneously convinces me that she’s better and happier than me, but not in a way that’s turned her into one of those joyful, irritating pod people currently spamming your Insta feed with flannel and pumpkins. Seriously. It’s like the five seconds of genuine joy you have for your perpetually single friend who FINALLY kills it this cuffing season, before you remember that friends with boyfriends are annoying AF and you yourself are still sad and alone.
Chrissy Teigen is those five seconds of joy, spun out into eternal purgatory where you don’t know if you want to murder her and wear her skin you want her to gain 50 pounds or be your maid of honor.
Phase Three: Chrissy Teigen’s Actual Dilemma Here
Finally, the problem itself, and it is truly one for the ages, unlike the new “What color are these sneakers?” bullshit. Should she name this adorable bulldog puppy Paul or Pablo???? Honestly, as much as it burns my soul that she has such a disgustingly wonderful life, I encourage everyone to bask in the glow of imagining this to be your largest problem. Is there a secret Kim/Taylor undercurrent, where “Paul” refers to Paul Ryan trying to make a Taylor Swift meme about healthcare, and also the general whiteness of the name Paul, and “Pablo” refers to Life of Pablo? 7000% no, but hey, wouldn’t it be absolutely psychotic more fun if there was? If you add up the syllables in this caption, is there a coded message about the secret political resistance being organized by the Teigen-Legends? Again, certainly not, but let the theories fly! Ask your friends! Ask your mom! Post a poll in your Instagram story! Let’s all live today like we’re Chrissy Teigen, faced with the eternal question of which P-name you should use on your baby bulldog for approximately one day, before calling him variations of “puppy” for the rest of his life.
With the news getting shittier and shittier by the day, it is time to focus on something positive: Chrissy Teigen and John Legend got a new puppy. Yep, that’s right, the Teigen-Legend household has welcomed a new member the family, and she is an English bulldog named Pepper. As if this family could not get any cuter.
Pepper will be joined by the family’s other dogs, Penny, Pippa, and Puddy, further proving that this is the cutest family in America. Chrissy spent the weekend healing America sharing adorable Pepper videos with her Insta audience and we gotta say: We’re in love. Just look at her:
She has the perfect amount of little French bulldog rolls! Not to mention the fact that any photo containing baby Luna in her diaper is a literal ovary melter.
Omg stoooopppp. Listen to her trying to bark! This is why I’ve always said I need the Legends to adopt me ASAP. Look at all the sweet little puppers! Seriously, are they looking for a dog sitter or anything? I will literally leave my job. They don’t have to pay me. I’ll live in the basement. IDGAF.
I’ve seen a disturbing trend on my timeline recently, and it’s not just because I only became Facebook friends with my dad a few months ago: people posting Facebook eulogies about their dead dogs. I know it’s 2017 and there are a lot more offensive things going on, especially on Facebook, than people posting about their dead dogs. But you know what? I don’t care. Call the Special Victims Unit, because this social media crime is especially heinous.
Yeah, I’m that monster who doesn’t care about your dead dog, and I don’t care who knows it. I mean, I sort of care because I’m writing from a semi-anonymous pseudonym as opposed to my real name. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m here to tell you why I don’t give a shit about your dead dog, and I’m willing to bet nobody else does either.
First I would like to say that I am not a cat person, nor am I a soulless robot who has never felt joy. On the contrary—I have had three dogs in my lifetime thus far, two of whom are now dead. So yes, I understand your pain and I know what you’re going through. But there are acceptable ways to express your grief and unacceptable ways. Uploading a photo of your deceased dog is fine. So is changing your profile picture to one of you and your late pup. Posting one—ONE—short status is also acceptable, with the key word being short. The world is certainly a darker place with one less dog in it, so it’s fine to let us know. You know what’s not fine? Posting a 1,000 word eulogy to your dog that sounds like it was actually written for a close family member, only for me to find out at the end after reading your entire essay that it was eulogizing your 17-year-old dog who’s had cancer for the last 4 years of its life. Stop it. You’re not a eugoogolizer. That shit is melodramatic. Dogs die. You knew going into it that your dog would age seven times faster than you. You can’t really be surprised.
“Today I lost my companion, my best friend, someone who’s been there for me through thick and thin for the past 11 years” — No I’m not copying and pasting from my timeline (I’m not that savage); I’ve just read so many of these and they all start the same fucking way. Like, first of all, your dog has not actually been “there for you.” Your dog wasn’t like, giving you advice and taking you out to the bars when your ex dumped you—they were just physically present. Also, and I’m not afraid to say it, if your parents took care of the dog while you were away at college and for most of your adult life and you hardly ever even walked this dog or picked up its shit, that hardly fucking counts. Like, you didn’t even do any of the heavy lifting and now you want to reap the sympathy points? Nah. I see you.
As if it weren’t bad enough to put more thought into your dog’s memorial than your grandma’s, where this shit really gets extra is when you have the people who just won’t fucking get over it. The people who are posting daily updates on their grief and flashback photos every chance they get. Your dog died two years ago AND you got a new puppy a week later, give it a rest, Catherine! You are allowed one sympathy post. ONE. After that, you’re just fishing for attention and it’s sad and annoying. Not to mention, where’s your new dog in all of this? Why is Fluffers being neglected because Mr. Peanutbutter (may he rest in peace) passed away two years ago? We’d all much rather see photos of your new, alive dog.
And you can tell everyone else is sick of it too because the flood of “Thinking of you!” “Sorry for your loss!” comments and likes dwindle from a solid 100 to like, just your aunt Judy and the girl in your international relations class who’s afraid you’ll botch your half of the group project without constant reassurance. Dogs are like babies: I can guarantee you that nobody else thinks your dog was as cute or friendly or lovable as you did.
To be clear, I’m not telling you that you can’t be sad when your dog dies—just stop fucking posting about it. Honestly, just stop posting about most things. Is the common denominator me? Am I the problem? …Probably. On that note, I’ll see myself out.
It’s Wednesday, so you’re probably starting to sober up from the combo of anti-anxiety meds and booze that got you through inauguration weekend. But while the Xanax may be wearing off, you now have to face the fact that a man whose idea of TBT is paraphrasing Hitler is now president. I mean, you should probably call your representatives and shit, unless you want to spend the next four years celibate because some old dude took away your birth control.
But once you’ve done that, you can go back to pretending we aren’t all fucked. Here’s a bunch of hot dudes to help with that.
