Donnie.
Donnie Darko.
Donnie.

I was going to say that Donnie is the bane of my existence but that’s really not the case. He’s just a dog. And I actually like him. I think he has an eating disorder, though, because every time I come inside, he looks at me, wags his tail and then goes to eat some little crunchy nuggets of dog food.

Donnie is living with me right now. I don’t know how long it’s been exactly, how long Donnie has been here. Two, maybe three weeks. He’s Luciana’s dog. Mayday and I are keeping Donnie for her while Vegas (the pit bull) is staying with her. Both Vegas and Donnie belong to Luciana’s uncle and he’s out of the country for a bit. They can’t stay together so we’re keeping Donnie. Luciana lives next door.

Luci is, of course, the girl who took a swing at me and ripped skin from my upper lip. That happened a day or two after Donnie moved in, I think. Luci and I have since “made up”. It was sufficiently awkward here in Melrose Place for the first couple of days after our little fight. I joked with her, she cut me evil glares. I would ignore her, she would walk by. One of my neighbors suggested that I play the fear card and just go running inside every time she came out. That would’ve been kind of funny, but I was feeling that was more effort than I wanted to put into it.

So we’re friends now. Donnie and I have been friends throughout. When we first got him, Mayday and I called him “Sh#thead” (paying our respects to Steve Martin’s dog in The Jerk). Then, I had a happy moment when I realized Donnie gave me the perfect excuse to exclaim (and in a loud manner) “Shut the f#ck up, Donnie!” And I could (and did) say it with the exact same tone as Walter Sobchack in The Big Lebowski. That joke wore a little thin. After a couple of days.

Good times. Donnie and I, we’ve had fun.