Hey GUESS WHAT? The Earth REVOLVES ON AN AXIS, right, so you know what? Australia, New Zealand, and Asia have ALREADY CELEBRATED THE BEGINNING OF 2008. I know, it's pretty hard for Americans to accept that THEY can't be the first.
Happy New Year's, folks, a couple of hours early. 2008 will be the Year of Awesome, I can just feel it.
When your animals have diarrhea (thanks, Mom, for INSISTING that it was Christmas for the dogs, too, which meant a plate of turkey and gravy - for each dog), inevitably the animals will gravitate towards the most difficult floor surface to clean up, like, say, CARPETING, to relieve themselves, instead of using all that nice, easily-washable linoleum. I feel like I should take my jug of Nature's Miracle out to dinner, it has saved my life so hard this December 26th.
And so it goes.
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Yeah. So. The holidays happened. They were actually quite lovely, and I got waaaay too many beautiful gifts because my family and friends are awesomely wonderful. I'm ready for non-eventful days for the next few weeks, though....oh, except we're saying goodbye to 2007 in a few days - thank Christ - and, oh yeah, I turn 27 next Wednesday.
My birthday is always pretty low-key, because for Chrissakes, who wants to party it up right after Christmas and New Years? Oh, right: NOONE. Plus something catastrophic always seems to happen on my birthday. People die (my cousin in England, and one of Steve's uncles), blizzards ravage the Midwest (the one is 1999 was so bad, it was a key factor in why that uncle I mentioned passed away), and then there was that one year when it was unseasonably warm (like 60 degrees) and I thought I'd finally gotten some luck on my birthday. The family had just finished a pretty good dinner, we were talking and enjoying ourselves....and then Smokey, our geriatric cat with diabetes, stroked out on the dining room buffet, while conveniently lying underneath my mom's beloved tree of ONLY GLASS ORNAMENTS.
This string of bad luck on my birthday has gotten so bad, that people don't want to mention to me when bad things happen on my special day anymore. Like that cousin in England? I found out about three days later about that from my mom, who was dancing around the subject when I asked her when my cousin died (distant, older cousin, FYI, who died at a ripe old age of natural causes). Mom's voice got really high, and she was all, "Oh! Yes, well, [insert cousin's name here] passed away a few days ago...." and then she trailed off, and I knew. January the Second had struck again.
Bev did it, and it was sooo funny, so I just had to do it myself. If this movie doesn't warm your heart, than your ticker is a crusty, dusty lump of coal.
Ugh. Another December day at this office, another afternoon lunch at a swanky place. Oh sigh. I get burnt out on these business lunches by this time of year. Probably because they make me have to get up extra-early to shower before work. You know, like 7:30 a.m., instead of 7:50. Torturous, I know, which is why I usually go to work with a nice layer of Yesterday's Grime on me.
So. I tried to put together a hip biz-casz outfit for this lunch, but managed to just make myself look like a rumply, pilled-sweater freak of nature. I mean, at this point I could just velcro in some shoulder pads and rock the 80's "Sistas Are Doin' For Themselves" look, and I don't think anyone would bat an eyelash. Yeah, thinking that my suede boots could bridge the gap between going-out clothes and biz-casz? Yeah. Big mistake.
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If someone could tell me why the format of this page is all jacked, that'd be cool. I have three scarves and a clapotis to make before Christmas. I'm swamped.
Man, this year can go F itself, I'm serious.
We had a scare with Mojo today. He wasn't moving all that much, and I had already been told that he has calcium deposits between his vertebrae, so if there is ANY change in how he acts I'm supposed to get him to the vet as soon as possible. With disc disease, you only have about a 24-hour window for him to get surgery to fix it so he doesn't lose his back legs.
Turns out, he's fine. The vet thinks that psychologically he's seeing Moxie up on our laps all the time, and he wants it, too. Even though Mojo hates being held. So he decides to scare the SHIT out of me, to teach me a lesson? A lesson that involved a "mom, dad, I have no money and I can't afford this and OH MY GOD" call, plus $465 for x-rays, shots, and new heartworm medication? What?
At least we have our Christmas photo done:
(Click on the photo to see it without Moj and I being cut out. Thanks for the crappy layout, Blogger!)
If I look tired/beaten down/on the verge of tears/crazed, it's because OH, I SEEM TO FEEL THAT WAY EVERY DAY LATELY.
Merry Christmas!
I got this in the mail today - click on the photo to read the inscription.
I almost got in the car to drive to their headquarters so I could give every last fucking one of them the biggest fucking hug EVER. And my vet? She's sooooo getting a Christmas card this year.
Woo! It's over! NaBloPoMo 2007 is a wrap. Probably the most lame month of my life, to date. Way to go, Life. Nice timing.
****
Tonight I sat at the bar sipping a kiddie cocktail, because I didn't feel like drinking but I did feel like sipping a Sprite, and then while I was ordering it, I thought, well, hell, pour some grenadine in that bad boy, bartender. Let's get wild!
When I whipped out the knitting needles, though....well, I think I've pretty much hammered in the last nail on my Coolness coffin. I am now officially 75 years old.
This has kept me chuckling for the last three days:
Snowball
It's also made me hum the same Backstreet Boys song for three days straight. Which is sort of maddening, but sort of totally worth it.
When I first saw this video, within seconds my fingers were furiously at work Googling the hell out of this alleged dancing cockatoo. One of the articles about him, from USAToday, said that when Snowball's previous owner gave him to Bird Lovers Only Rescue, he included the CD of "Everybody," telling the refuge's owner to put it in and watch what would happen.
Read more about Snowball and the bird refuge where he lives here.
Tonight, my sister's family came over for pizza, and we started putting up some of my Christmas decorations.
I live in a tiny apartment, and have enough Christmas decorations for at least a 4-bedroom home. People who come into my apartment in December usually mutter something under their breath when they think I can't hear, usually along the lines of "Lampoon..."
No part of my Crazy Christmas Collection is quite as bizarre, though, as the manger scene that I inherited from my grandmother. It started out pretty straightforward, you know, but then people kept on buying her more pieces, and I think she felt obligated to put it all out at once. Because, you see, my family prides itself in having mastered the delicate art of how to lay on the most effective Guilt Trip, even about stupid crap like figures from a manger scene.
So I give you:
The Manger: Reloaded.
Feel the Power.
First of all, thanks to everyone who expressed their condolences over Babe. So sweet. It is precisely things like that that make me remember why I wanted to start a blog in the first place.
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Hi.
Things are pretty status quo here. Still sort of depressed about yesterday. Still coughing and hacking. Did I tell you I have a sinus infection? Because I do. I've had it for, oh, about FIVE WEEKS NOW. I just went through a week's worth of antibiotics that did jack shit, so tonight my doctor called me, and told me he's changing my medication, and if that doesn't get rid of the infection, he wants a CT scan of my sinuses. Awesome! Right in time for the holidays. Rad!
****
Hey guys, we're in the home stretch. Can you believe it? Boy, I can. These last few weeks of daily blogging have been like my own private Bataan Death March. Or maybe it just wasn't really a stellar month that I wanted to really document. Seriously, next year at this time, I can look back at these entries and be all, "Damn! November 2007 really fucking sucked!" I can't wait.
However, I'm no quitter. Actually, I'm totally a quitter, but I've met several sweet folks through NaBloPoMo and this blog in general, so I soldiered on. I was feeling pretty bad about missing most of the end of last week, too, so I went ahead and made these:
Faux Day 23
Faux Day 24
Faux Day 25
I know it's cheating, but you know. Whatevs. It's not going by the NaBloPoMo Book surely. Not that anything like that exists.
Three more days, kids. Three more days.
So I fell off the NaBloPoMo bandwagon. Thanksgiving was wonderful, but the weekend really went downhill from there.
Today, I had a vet come to my apartment to put Babe down.
She hadn't been doing well, and it was the best thing. But my heart still hurts.
Thanks to the digital age we live in, I have way more photos of Babe than I would have had if I'd had to get film processed. Click on the photo below for Babe's very own Flickr photoset.
I miss her.
As penance for missing three days of NaBloPoMo, because I knew what was coming and I just didn't feel like writing anything, I am posting three Faux Day Entries that chronicle what I did those three days. Which was basically nap and eat turkey and cheddar sandwiches. But rules are rules, man. So here we go.
Faux Day 25
Tonight we took Moxie to my parents' house for the first time, to meet their two Bostons:
That's Bertie on the left, Herbie on the right. They are sort of....intense. Ok, not sort of, they're batshit crazy. But in a really cute way.
Herbie is a rescue and thus riddled with your typical Rescue Dog Issues. Every day, he strives to convince my parents that he really IS worth keeping, really! Which he's been doing for four years now. Bertie is just....Bert. He marches to the beat of his own drummer, and from what we can gather, said "drummer" might be a bit "Special Ed."
Anyways, the night went better than expected, Moxie was pretty freaked out until my mom and dad had successfully loaded her with turkey and Milkbones. Mojo, because he is my Best Log, just sort of wiggled around and thought it was pretty badass that he kept on getting fed, too. Herbie snubbed all the dogs and snuggled my mom all night, and Bert made the mistake of standing over Moxie to sniff her until she growled at him to Back The F Up. Did I mention he made this mistake about six times? Yeah. Special Ed.
Later on, we took all four dogs for a walk, and any prior animosity was forgotten, thanks to a mutual interest in deer poop, dog pee, and one anothers' butts. If only humans could resolve their issues so quickly - this world would be pretty frickin' sweet.
As penance for missing three days of NaBloPoMo, because I knew what was coming and I just didn't feel like writing anything, I am posting three Faux Day Entries that chronicle what I did those three days. Which was basically nap and eat turkey and cheddar sandwiches. But rules are rules, man. Here we go.
Faux Day 24
Today pretty much went the same route as yesterday, except I decided to drag my ass to my friend's house for a Thanksgiving Leftovers Dinner. Too bad I've been eating ONLY Thanksgiving leftovers for breakfast, lunch and dinner the past two days; I probably would have been alot more interested in going to the party. But alas, for breakfast today I ate cold stuffing, that was clumped together and skewered with a fork. Like a stuffing popsicle.
So I didn't partake of the meal at my friend's house at all, but went for the company, and to catch up with my college friends while some of them were in town from school. I also worked the entire time on the matching dog sweaters I'm making for Mojo and Moxie. Ridiculously lame, I know, but come on a walk with my dogs and me in the winter, sometime. When we're halfway down the block and both dogs are yanking your arms backwards to go BACK THE WAY WE CAME, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, then you'll see why I like me some warm dog sweaters.
Two guys at the party scoffed at me because I was:
A) Knitting at a party, and
B) Knitting dog sweaters.
As I said above, I understand that both A and B are pretty lame. But I already knew that. I don't need anyone else reiterating what a loser I am.
So I did the most grown-up thing possible: I poked both people, hard, with my knitting needles.
That'll teach those guys to ridicule a hobby that involves sharp(ish) tools.
As penance for missing three days of NaBloPoMo, because I knew what was coming and I just didn't feel like writing anything, I am posting three Faux Day Entries that chronicle what I did those three days. Which was basically nap and eat turkey and cheddar sandwiches. But rules are rules, man. So here we go.
Faux Day 23
Today went a little something like this:
10:30 A.M.: Woke up.
Noon: Laid down for a nap.
2:00 P.M.: Woke up from Nap 1. Ate a sandwich of leftover turkey with cheddar cheese.
2:45 P.M.: Laid down for a nap.
4:30 P.M.: Woke up from Nap 2. Took a long shower.
5:00 P.M.: After showering, laid down for a nap, wrapped in my bathrobe, with a towel on my head.
7:30 P.M.: Woke up from Nap 3 to my phone ringing - Steve asking if I want to go out for dinner. Got dressed, but because I slept for TWO AND A HALF HOURS WITH A TOWEL ON MY HEAD, a hat needed to be worn in the restaurant, throughout dinner.
9:00 P.M.: Got back from dinner, got into my pajamas, and probably fell asleep around 10.
Apparently, holiday vacations for me mean resorting to the same sleeping schedule I had when I was a newborn.
Sweet, only 45 minutes late on this entry.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I hope yours was fantastic. Mine was lovely, more lovely than I thought it would be. Extended family that I haven't seen in a while, a ridiculously cute nephew to pal around with, and then when I got home I had these two greeting me at the door:
There's so much to be thankful for. So much that I'm going to go to sleep all warm and fuzzy, and try to ignore the fact that my fat roll has busted out from between the bottom of my camisole and the top of my underpants.
It's the day before Thanksgiving, and because I'm pretty sure I'll be too comatose from my sweet potato casserole, which should really be called Diabetic Nightmare: Variations on a Sugar Theme (it uses white AND brown), I'll probably post my Day 22 entry late. So I want to take this moment to say this:
Thanksgiving is all about giving thanks for those around you that you know and love, I want to say I love you, Internet. Have a good Thanksgiving. Forget the calories and dive in. Pour a little salt on your helping of turkey, and put your rings in your pocket, because, you know, all of that yummy sodium is going to lead to the dreaded sausage fingers. But who cares? It's Thanksgiving!
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I also want to take this time to share with you a recent story from my own family, a story which is just one of the many reasons why I'll be in a jolly mood heading to my parents' house tomorrow:
My dad emailed me this story today:
The other night, he had come out of the bathroom and had just settled in to his La-Z-Boy, when my mom came into the room, sniffing incredulously, and asked:
"Did you just go to the bathroom? Or should I be looking around for a dog mess?"
Family! Love 'em.
So I came home from work this evening to this:
That's Moxie, admiring the Moxie-sized hole she made in the baby gate. FYI, she's supposed to be on the other side of this baby gate.
****
It's T-minus 1.2 days until Thanksgiving. I have a sweet potato casserole I need to make. I have zero ingredients bought for this task. I have a sinus infection. My new dog is bat-shit insane, and does things like eat through plastic. I'm taking this Levoquin antibiotic and hey, guess what? I feel like I'm typing this in zero gravity.
Awesome! Happy Holidays!
Fuck. Missed Day Nineteen. I won't make any more excuses for myself.......
EXCEPT:
Last night was spent in my hometown, with my doctor, who was giving the ol' lungs a listening, to find out why I've been coughing for three weeks. Three weeks. Srsly, it was getting ridiculous. During one of my disgusting, raspy, and loud coughing bouts (at Alyssa's wedding, after I'd held it in for the 45-minute ceremony), my friend's boyfriend actually leaned over to her and whispered, in all seriousness: "Is Emily going to die?"
Well guess what, Kevin? I'm not going to die! I have a sinus infection. Awesome. At least I feel vindicated for sitting on my ass knitting dog sweaters and whining to Steve that I "just can't possibly work out."
Someone pass me my needles!
Whew, made it just in time. Twenty-two minutes left of Day Eighteen. This NaBloPoMo is pretty grueling. I feel like I'm treating it like I treated high school and college: doing everything half-ass, at the last minute. I seemed to make it through both, though, so my mediocrity must be doing something right.
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Today was pretty lazy, which is exactly what the new dog needed. I got a little stir crazy, so around one I went out to run some errands, and apparently there was much crying and scratching at the door, followed by an intense moping session:
Sheesh. I was only gone for like an hour. It's just going to take Moxie time to adjust to having her world all shaken up, and I think Mojo can sense her worry, so gets worried himself because he doesn't know what the flip the problem is. But it's cool, it's only the second day. I'd say we're doing pretty swell, all things considered. Meeting people is sort of a pain though. The neighbor downstairs met her, and Moxie sort of tried to bite her hand off. So, umm, we're going to continue going to obedience classes.
We had our friend Pat over for dinner, though, and once we got beyond the first few minutes (and by bribing with some treats), she seemed ok. Later on, we left to go see Pat's band, and there was a bit of crumbling as we left, and intense happiness when we got home. I'm sure a work week will make it a little better. I think she's doing really well, though, especially for a dog that spent the first two-and-a-half years of her life crated up and forgotten.
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Ok, I have to go to bed. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, because hey! Guess what? Still sick. Three weeks now, for chrissakes! My mom was fussing and fretting over me when I was at home, and I felt so guilty for making her worry like that. So I'm partly going to the doctor for her. Also, I just want to make double-sure that I don't have the killer cold-virus variant. Not like that has me up at night worrying or anything.
!!!!
Gah! Late to the Day Seventeen draw, too. I'm sorry. I was too engrossed in the battle for Middle Earth.
Today we went and picked up Moxie, our 8-pound piebald dachshund. We went to meet up with the organization that we adopted her from, Midwest Dachshund Rescue, at Jim Morgan's Chicago Canine Academy. Damn, that man is amazing with dogs. Moxie shows aggression to people she first meets, and did that to Jim, and he swept her up, held her by the scruff of the neck, and used her as an example of how one way to establish that you are Boss is by holding smaller dogs like their mothers would. Damn. OF COURSE!
Anyways, we've been settling in. We met the cat:
(The open tumor sores are a little too enticing for Moxie to lick, so we're going to have to watch her around Babe.)
And after an evening of all hanging out, the kids passed out from all the excitement of the day:
Yes, I have a dachshund throw pillow. It was a gift, ok?
Moj, my (now seems very) big boy, wins for most precious Caught-Mid-Sleep-Shot:
We'll see how this all goes. Right now, it seems fine, but that could just be the newness of it all. Keep your fingers crossed.
Gah! I missed Day Sixteen! But it wasn't my fault, sort of: I had a wedding far away at 3:30 in the afternoon, and I crapped out mid-way home and stayed at my parents' house. Sometimes you just need to wake up to fresh pancakes and coffee, you know, and Steve hasn't been picking up any spatulas. So I'm really grateful for me Ma.
The wedding was gorgeous. That probably had a lot to do with the fact that Alyssa and her new husband, Paul, are ridiculously gorgeous. Paul is dreamy and English and oh, did I tell you that he's a professional soccer player for a teeny-tiny place off the coast of Iceland called the Faroe Islands? Because he totally is.
My favorite photo from the night:
That's Alyssa right there, listening to her dad tell her how proud he is of her. It was sweet.
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More to come for the day that it actually is, because today was a big one. But right now, I need to go pop in my extended version of "The Lord Of The Rings" and get some knitting done. I like to knit to LOTR, because I know that, theoretically, I have 11+ hours to finish my knitting project. Not that I've ever watched them in a row or anything*.
*Total lie.
Day Fifteen is pretty much as dull as Day Fourteen, albeit without the complete SNAFU in the middle.
So all I have for you is this. Quite possibly the best commercial in the world, and one more reason why most nights I snuggle up close to my DS Lite:
"Aunty"
It's 11:42 on Day Fourteen, and, well, Day Fourteen can just take itself right on out of here. Today was the worst. It wasn't going un-well, really, until around 12:45 p.m., when I came home at lunch to walk the dogs, sat on the bottom step in the hallway to wrestle each dog into their harnesses, and walked out the door.
Without my keys. They stayed on the bottom step.
I was locked out of my house, sitting on the step with my companions, in the dreary cold. We stayed this way for an hour, until Steve, my Knight in Shining Armor, came to rescue me. With his spare set of keys.
Is this karma for taking the occasional snooze in the file room? Because that would be a shame. I really need those power naps.
I would write more, but that would keep me from Disc Two of Wonderfalls.
Sharyn, I do like it. But come on, how could I not like a show that predominantly features a Mold-A-Rama?
Rawr:
Pro: I hacked my way through an hour of cardio on the cross trainer at the gym, while watching Heroes. Several people came to work out at the trainers next to mine, and quickly left after one or two of my incredibly loud, incredibly disgusting-sounding coughs. People, it's just a cold. At least, I'm pretty sure it's just a cold.
Con: Instead of a conventional lunch, today I had an assortment of leftover Halloween candy. Hey, I went to the gym with a cold, ok. Please pass the Charleston Chew.
I've decided that this cold and I are OVER. It is time for me and Sickness to go our separate ways, and no, Cold, you can't still call me. I'm changing numbers. We're done.
So I'm sitting here at work, drinking 1667% of my daily value of Vitamin C, and tonight I'm going to probably go and work out, and business will carry on as usual, cold be damned. So take that, cold.
****
So everyone keeps on asking me about getting the new dog, if I'm excited, etc., etc. I guess I don't sound as excited as I am. This could be because this cold is giving me a Marlene Dietrich voice (which I'll actually be sort of sad to see go), but it's also because there's alot to do between now and Puppy Handover Time. I need to find out what she's bringing with her, so I know what I need to get. I need to bring out the baby gate so she'll be in the kitchen while Moj is in the other part of the apartment during the day. We need to actually PUT A DOORKNOB on the door going to the second bedroom (off the kitchen) so that she can't get into that room, with it's precariously-stacked boxes of Crap We Don't Need And Should Probably Go Through At Some Point, But, You Know, Who Has Time For That.
Then there's the initial getting-to-know-you period. I know that we just need to take it one day at a time, and that most likely everything will work out as it should, but I'm just sort of nervous, you know? Also, I'm a pushover, and Mojo is a spoiled brat, so I'm worried that everything will go to Hell in a Handbasket and I'll be powerless to make things right. Does everyone have these thoughts, or is it just me?
If you have any words of wisdom on smoothly bringing a second dog into a one-dog situation, please send them my way.
Oh, Internet. I didn't want to jinx it earlier, but we are signing the papers on Saturday, so I guess it's a done deal.
We're adopting. Umm...not a child. Another dog.
She's a little, 8-pound piebald dachshund (I guess piebald is the name for that type of coloring). I'm not saying her name yet, because we might change it. She has a little bit of problems with initial interactions with people, but she seemed to like us, and even nudged Moj a couple of times to get him to play with her. I'm nervous for Moj, because he's my Little Man/Best Dog/Best Log. He's pretty good with other dogs, even incredibly excited puppies, but I'm worried about how he'll be once he realizes that this one is here to stay. He'll probably feel sort of how my sister did when I came along. Let's just hope Mojo doesn't spray this little girl in the eyes with Windex like my sister did.*
*True story. But I came out alright, albeit with poor eyesight, and now my sister and I are the best of friends.
****
For their last day in Chicago, Steve and I met up with his cousin and we all went to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It was great. All the animals were out and about, doing very token animal-ish things. Like this:
Come on, how many times does the lion climb to the highest point in his enclosure and roar??
Umm, I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't mention going to the zoo for my own
personal benefit. I am so transparent.
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Do any of you fine folks have any advice for selling stuff on eBay? I've never sold, and I want to sell back the purse I shouldn't have bought, but I'm a little nervous. Give me some tips!
I failed to mention in my faux Day 9 entry that I have a new crush.
In his most recent movie (which you really need to go and see), he is absolutely terrifying, and his creepy haircut doesn't help:
But in real life, Javier Bardem is a total Hottie McHottington:
RAWR. Let's just say, I had some sweet dreams last night.
****
This afternoon we took Steve's cousin, his fiance and some of her friends to The Garfield Park Conservatory. It was beautiful, as always. And sort of humid, you know. Also, I had to lay the smack down on a groomsman in a wedding party who asked us to move in a really snotty way. To move out of the background of a photo in a public place. I wasn't very nice. But he wasn't very nice, so I guess we ended with a detente of Mean-ness.
Oh, also, Steve pretended to throw me in the pond. 
Notice how completely un-phased I am. That's what six years does to you, folks.
Gah! I missed a day! On noes! Now I'm going to have to post twice in one day. Kill me.
I do have an actual excuse, though. Well, not really, but our Friday night was consumed with getting tickets to go see "No Country For Old Men" which was only playing at three theaters in all of Chicago, and when we got there, there were no seats so we all had to split up, and.....anyways, I guess this isn't really an excuse. More of a plea: Go see "No Country For Old Men." It was horrific and amazing and....wow.
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I did have an entry queued up for yesterday, though. Here it is:
Oh my. I bought a purse on eBay the other day, and unfortunately it is not the purse for me. I think I was blinded by the fact that I see Hayden Harnett bags on Anthropologie's website all the time, and I was blinded by the deal of this one and so I bought it. Not that there was anything wrong with the bag I was carrying. In fact, I absolutely love the bag I'm carrying right now. So anyways, I think I might try to make my first sale ever on eBay. I've never done it before, because even though word on the street is that I have good taste, deep down I have this fear that everyone's lying and I have no taste at all. So then I would make an eBay page, and noone would buy anything.
I never said I was rational.
Sad Realization Made At Laundromat While Pulling Clothes From The Dryer Tonight:
I will never get picked up by a guy at a laundromat, like you sometimes see in commercials, or, for that matter, even get scoped out, due to my overwhelming amount of Granny Panties.
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Today's photo is from my noon walk with Moj and the downstairs puppies. Mojo is trying to keep BamBam (the little black puppy) from eating his face off. Bothering Mojo seems to be BamBam's favorite game, because apparently making a dog growl at you on purpose is JUST!! SO!! MUCH! FUN!!*
(*I bet puppies probably do all of their thinking in caps, with lots of exclamation points. Then, once they've grown into adult dogs, it's just! Exclamation! Points!)
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I have to admit, I think I watched an episode of Ken Burns' "The War" tonight just so I could have a good cry. A good cry, from watching old men (that remind me of my two grandfathers, who've both been gone awhile) remember their experiences as boys, waging a war. A war that actually meant something, that actually had a purpose.
It seems so inconceivable, nowadays.
Still sick. I think things are loosening up? In the lung area or something? Who the hell knows. I'm going to take some NyQuil and pass out. What is this, 2000? Am I in college again?
All I have for Day 6 is this shot Kieran took of my dog, in costume at the Halloween party, straight-up chillin' with a big rubber rat.
Day 6 kicked my ass.
Is it Day 5 already? Or, more fittingly: is it only Day 5?
Of note:
1. I am still sick. I am also tired of people saying that I'm not sick, thankyouverymuch. Just because my cold-ish symptoms and cough don't seem to show up until, oh, about six in the evening, doesn't mean they're not there. The only person who validated my condition was, hilariously, the resident homeless guy, when I was walking the dog/hacking my way down the block this evening.
"Gosh, you don't sound so good, hon."
Yes! YES, EXACTLY.
2. In a ridiculous lapse of judgment, I set my Peapod delivery for tomorrow morning, between 6 and 8 a.m., because I didn't want to go to the store today, and they don't offer evening deliveries on Tuesdays. Most days, I'm not even awake before eight in the morning, and can barely talk until at least nine-fifteen. We'll have to see how this goes.
3. Heroes is confusing the hell out of me. Too many plot lines! A chick whose eyes bleed! I can't keep it all straight. After tonight's episode, my brain actually hurt. So I decided I'd unwind with the simplicity that is The Hills, because come on, a chimp could keep up with the plot lines of that series. But the feed from mtv.com doesn't seem to be working, and I sort of want to die.
4. The only highlight of my Monday were these:
They're Borns (I don't know how to make the thing in the "O"). A woman at work gave them to me, because she had bought them for herself, but didn't like the wide fronts. She commented one day that I seem to wear alot of gnome-like shoes, and thought that these would be perfect for me. And they are.
Man, I didn't even make it to the inflatable doll stage of our Girls' Night Out last night. I hung in there for a good three hours, but then a combination of my cold and these shoes deciding to cut the circulation off of my feet ended up doing me in. And when I stepped outside of the situation I was in - while a group of particularly sleazy older men at the shitty Frat-Boy bar we were at ground (do you call it "grinded" in this situation?) their bodies against my friends and me - I realized that really, I am more content being at home, playing a fierce game of Dr. Mario with my Main Squeeze.
This is why when my friends and I play the "What Little Woman Would We Be" game (I'm not kidding, we've had this discussion at least 10 times), I still maintain that I'm mostly like Beth. Minus the extreme shyness, extreme kindness, bout with scarlet fever, and - I hope - untimely death.
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Today's photo is the bride-to-be that we were toasting last night, looking resplendent in her tiara (which several men at one gay bar we were at kept on PLEADING with her to give to them), taking her first shot of the night with her special shot glass.
Memories!
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Tomorrow will be Monday, folks. I am just warning you now that tomorrow's entry will most likely be about work, or the gym, or grocery shopp.....zzzzzzz. If you choose to ignore me tomorrow, I totally understand where you're coming from.
Hey folks, I can't talk for long because I'm off to a bachelorette party. I'm really excited about going. But that might just be because we plan on handcuffing an inflatable, genetically correct male doll to my friend Alyssa, and then throwing back a few while we play a game of ring toss (rings included with the doll).
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Today's photo is a link to a photo, because everyone knows that the most fun part about photos from the What's In Your Bag Group are the notes that explain what each item is. I felt compelled to do my own WIYB today, because I spent a good hour or so in a sex shoppe (I feel like I need to add an extra "p" and an "e" to sex shop, you know, to make it classier), and ended up with a penis shot glass in my purse. When else will something like that be in my purse?
But it's sort of boring with no photo in this entry at all, so here's one of my friend Lauren, who turned 27 two days ago:
Happy Birthday, Lauren!
This is from our trip to our alma mater last winter. We made a side trip to Amishland in Tuscola, because come on, it's AMISHLAND.
The best part about this photo is that when I showed this photo to Lauren one night over drinks, she said, "Damn, I should have brought that corncob pipe to the bar tonight." Lauren is awesome.
Which is why I have to go handcuff an inflatable, well-hung doll to a friend of mine with Lauren tonight. Ta ta!
Oh my gosh, Day 2. I'm already tired of this. Just kidding, I'm not really, but I think what might be the most depressing thing about this whole NaBloPoMo thing is that it's really going to bring it on home how boring my day-to-day life is. I'm 26 going on 70, I swear. I apologize in advance for submitting you guys to this, Internet.
I bet around November 15th everyone's entries are going to take a drastic turn down Lame Ave., after a pitstop at the Yawn Boutique.
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Happy Blog Birthday to a certain self-proclaimed Crabby McCrabbingtons. Her blog turned 3 today. Such commitment! I tip my Blog Hat to you, Ms. Emily. Awesome name, btw.
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Hey, Flickrers, did you know that November is NaBloShoeMo, too? Maybe not officially, but I'm glad these ladies decided it was. I love shoes. I have more than 30 pairs. I want to show them to the world.
Apparently I also want to be in debt for the rest of my life, because all this group is doing is making me want more shoes. But whatever! I love the group anyways!
I am a little embarrassed that my first two contributions to the group have been recycled photos from my own little Flickr corner of shoe worship. But I can't seem to find the charger to the rechargeable batteries for my camera. I'm sure I'll find it during my weekly OhMyGodIAmSoImmatureAndLazyThatICan'tKeepACleanHomeIWillNeverMakeItInLife freakout, which is scheduled for around noon-ish tomorrow. But here are some gems from the Shoe Archive: my Birkenstocks. Complete with an unfortunate spot from some ice cream I dropped on the left shoe, and some f'n crazy knee socks my boss brought back for me from a trip to Spain. Enjoy.
Well, here we go. The first day of NaBloPoMo. We'll see how long I stick to this. Six years ago, I would have been alot more pessimistic, but hey! I've kept a reasonably-healthy relationship for the past six years! And I've only tried to break it off about ten times! I can do this! Come at me, NaBloPoMo!
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I have a cold. Up until last night it was just in my nose and sinus-area, but last night it creeped into my chest. I have to say that I feel some vindication, now that I have this raspy cough, because anyone close to me will tell you that I tend to Cry Wolf about being sick. Umm, alot. I chalk this up to having Fantastic Health Genes, that fight off most sicknesses by just making me feel a little run down for a few days. Steve chalks this up to my Crazy. However, even he can't deny that I'm sick, when I hack up a phlegmy wad, and then spit it his way when he beats me at a particularly cutthroat bout of Dr. Mario. See? Vindication!
This cold, I've found, is one of those that makes everything smell Not Like What It Should. For instance, I've been smelling fried dough alot. I don't think that I've been in many places where actual fried dough would be located, though. Also, I can't say that I mind my world smelling like fried dough, either. Like yesterday afternoon, when the elevator smelled like fried dough mixed with Clean Boy Smell. Usually the elevator smells like the cheap, overwhelming perfume that seems to be the stink of choice for the pregnant teenagers I usually ride the elevators with. So this change to Fried Dough/Clean Boy Smell was heaven. I rode the elevator up a few extra floors, just to bask in it. If there really is a man in the hospital who smells like that......whoa.
How do I explain to Steve that I would like him to always smell like he just took a shower....in a shower that was conveniently located in a Dunkin' Donuts? Hmm.
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I'm going to post a photo a day, too. It's November, it's gloomy, we have to inspire ourselves in several different ways.
However, because of the afore-mentioned cold, I've been going home at lunch to sleep, so I don't have a photo that I took today to share. But I do have this one of my Man and me forcing our Dog to wear Crap He Hates from a couple of days ago. Enjoy.
While it's not a good idea to pick a fight that escalates into such a rager that your boyfriend throws two perfectly good loaves of bread into the trash can, in complete and utter exasperation over your asinine behavior.....
.....it is fun, the day after the fight (and after you've made up), at dinner time, to dance around the kitchen saying things to said boyfried such as: "Oh! Gosh, I'd really love a grilled cheese right now.....oh, that's right, we lost all the bread in the Fiery Loaf Rage of Ought Seven."
Just sayin'.
I signed up for this today:
I want to see if I can really do it. I can't commit to anything. I am wishy-washy. To put it more frankly, I would rather play Dr. Mario than commit my innermost feelings to my blog. That said, there are so many lovely people on the Internets. Also, Bev is like one of my personal heroes, and she's been writing EVERY DAY for something like 7 years. Seriously, every day I read the Chicago Tribune online, CNN, and then I read Bev. So Bev, I'm dedicating my NaBloPoMo participation to you. If I fail and fall off the NaBloPoMo bandwagon, the next time I am in the Davis area* I will buy you a cup of Peet's coffee.
*Which, you know, is sort of a hike from Chicago, so I better not F*** this NaBloPoMo thing up.
Today, as we left the apartment, Homeless Guy Next Door was plugging his phone charger into the outdoor plug on the house, right next to my door.
"Oh, it's ok," he said, "[My landlord] knows that I do this."
Steve and I just sort of nodded and walked away.
Steve verbalized what we were both thinking once we got in the car, which is that we could care less that Homeless Guy is using the electricity that, through a (wonderful) fluke, we don't even pay for. What's more interesting about this situation is that he has a cell phone. Am I out of the loop? Do most homeless people have cell phones? Cellphones that need to be charged? Using an electrical outlet, which would be located.....in a home?
So the Homeless Guy that sometimes lives on the steps of the house next door (I've mentioned him before, but I'm too tired to go in the Blog Way Back Machine and find that entry and link it - I have reached a new level of lazy) has been lurking around for seriously like two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Everytime I let the dog out to pee, he's there. Everytime I come to and from work (which totals four times a day, I go home for lunch), he's there. Now, I'm into the random pleasantry now and then, but it just gets to be a bit much EVERY SINGLE TIME I LEAVE MY APARTMENT.
So he's nice, sure, and he tries to be helpful to the neighbors when he can, but I think everyone's patience is wearing a little thin. Take the guy across the street, who was carrying an entire washing machine into his gangway the other day. When Homeless Man tottered over to say he'd help, the guy turned on him and said, "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP. DO NOT FOLLOW ME INTO THIS GANGWAY."
Ok, so what am I really pissed about? Homeless man has begun to comment on my parallel parking abilities. Now, I'm not the best parker in the world, but I'm certainly not the worst on this block. There's a girl with a green Honda CR-V that I've raged about on this blog before whose waaaay worse (again, too lazy to link to my rant about her and the Post-It note I almost left on her windshield but then felt too guilty). Also, Steve and I have gone through, seriously, like ten tires in the last two months. We are down on our Tire Luck. So if I'm parked a little far from the curb, hey, so be it. I'm saving some cash in the meantime.
But today? Today he reached a new low. He was sitting there, blitzed on his usual 40 of Icehouse at 5 p.m., and he's sitting there, contemplating why I'm parked so far away from the curb.
"I don't get it. You had so much room in the back."
"I could have helped you get in."
"You just needed to cut it a little closer."
"You know, maybe you're just a bad parker."
!!!!
The last one threw me over the edge. I mumbled something like, "Yeah, well, you know," and then I mumbled, "ya fucking douche" to myself as I unlocked the door.
I guess my parents did raise me right, because I was able to hold myself back from screaming what I really wanted to say, which was "DUDE, YOU'RE FUCKING HOMELESS, YOU DON'T LIVE IN A HOME. YOU SIT ON THE STEPS OF SOMEONE ELSE'S HOUSE ALL DAY DRINKING THE SHITTIEST BEER EVER. DON'T FUCKING CRITIQUE MY PARALLEL PARKING, HOMELESS MAN."
Internet, I've been ignoring you, like a big, fat jerk. I apologize. Life has been one big wad of Mundaneness that has only been spiked by a few un-mundane things, and I didn't want to bother you with all that.
But, but! Last weekend I went to Napa Valley for a wedding. It was pretty kickass. Steve's uncle is a sommelier, and writes freelance articles around the Chicago area, so he had the "Ins." So now I have to work "I spent a weekend in a house nestled in a chardonnay field" into EVERY conversation I have for the next year or so.
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Let's see...what else...Babe's tumor is still growing rapidly, just like the vet warned. However, she's in a FANTASTIC mood, because she gets to eat whatever she wants. Tuna, various canned kittie food...it's a veritable Terminal Cancer Free-for-All. Which is ok. Let her enjoy it.
Last night, she layed down facing me, and we traded face nuzzles for a couple of minutes. I would nuzzle her nose with my nose, she'd do it back. I'm doing my best not to let any sadness creep in when we have those moments, and just enjoy what a sweetheart she is.
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I'm thinking of doing a massive overhaul of my apartment this season. You know, maybe paint the walls something other than white, maybe hang something, possibly get curtains that actually fit....hoo-ee, the possibilities. Although home decorating is going to cut waaay into my 2.5 alotted hours of DS time, I guess I can make the sacrifice.
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Finally: it's October. Halloween. Woo! I'm pretty sure my costume is going to rock this year. May not be as cool as the year I went as a Notary Public, but it will be up there.
If you, too, are shamefully addicted to The Hills, you should really watch this.
And yes, I said shamefully, and I didn't mean to write shamelessly. Oh, no, I have TONS of shame that I can't get enough of this show. I hang on every word that Lauren Conrad says in her raspy-yet-come-hitherish voice. My insides well up with hot rage whenever Horse-Toothed Spencer comes on. Seriously, there has to be a plastic surgeon in L.A. that can reconstruct his lips so he doesn't have that stupid sneer all the time. And Heidi! She's such a brainwashed train wreck. I'm compelled to feel just a little bit sorry for her. But then she and Spencer do some more stupid shit, and I hate her all over again. And when Elodie told Heidi in the last episode that "she can't even tell right from wrong anymore," and that it's "so sad?" Oh my god. Awesome.
I think my favorite, though, is Audrina. She just seems to coast through life with fantastic hair and beautful skin, and a pair of gams I would sell my dog for. Even though Logical Me knows that her sweetness is probably stemming from the fact that she's sort of dim....whatever. I am actually pulling for her relationship with Justin Bobby to work out, even if he is a total chode.
Man, what a downer of a post to leave up for so long. We will now return to our regular programming.
We'll call this post:
What I Learned From My Recent 3-Day Trip to Manhattan.
1) One of the biggest regrets of my life took place long, long ago, when my parents were ordering me my Big Girl Going Off To College Luggage. This was before rolling carry-ons were the Norm, and I remember my mom and dad saying something like, "Oh look, Em: they offer an option to have wheels put on your luggage. That would be convenient." To which I said: "Wheels? Why would I want wheels on my luggage?" Then I probably haughtily re-applied my Blue Raspberry LipSmackers and retreated to my room to call my friend Lizzy and whine to her about how lame my parents were.
Flash forward to Emily on 09/10/2007, fumbling around O'Hare with her ridiculous non-wheeled duffel bag, cursing under her breath at her Teen Stupidity. We'll just chalk that one up to being one of many things that, if I ever write an autobiography, will fit into a part of my history I like to call "Perpetual Head Up The Ass: Emily's Teen Years."
2) I overpack. My sister underpacks. We are polar opposites. Anyways, this led to a few foibles on our trip. Mine had to do with an emergency FedEx shipment of clothes I hadn't worn being sent to my parents, to allow space for new purchases. My sister's involved multiple trips to Duane Reed for Band-Aids to cover the blisters on her feet from her one pair of shoes, and being self-conscious that her business attire wasn't cut out for the flashy New York Business Scene, reinforced by a bum on the street calling her "elegant."
3) If they would let me, I would live at the Nintendo World Store. All I'd need were some Pokemon sheets, my plush Yoshi and a Nintendogs alarm clock. I would then spend the rest of my days laying in bed with the trusty DS, rotating between Animal Crossing, Brain Age and Picross.
4) My Midwestern urge to fill awkward silences with witty banter is completely lost on New York waiters and cashiers.
5) But the cabbies! Oh, the cabbies. All of my cab drivers were extremely nice, laughed heartily at my jokes, and were totally helpful. I want to think this is because they're just like that, but maybe word got around that there was a red-headed Midwesterner in Manhattan, who can't do simple math to make tips so was making up for it by just "rounding up." Waaay up.
6) Manhattan businesswomen are a whole breed unto themselves. A breed we like to call "Complete and Utter Bitch." I got practically knocked to the ground by not one, not two, but three different women while I was walking. However, the last one was worth getting hit by her Chanel bag, because that chick was busy having the most entertaining cell phone call I've ever had the pleasure of overhearing. She was talking all about "that selfish prick" who "practically broke up" with her that morning, so she "threw his cell phone out the window. That will show him. What a fucking bastard."
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So that was what I learned from my brief trip to NY. I didn't take nearly as many photos as I should have, but that was mainly because if I stopped too many times to catch a picture, a Manhattan Businesswoman probably would have pinned me to the ground and eaten out my heart for some added protein before she hit the gym for 2.5 hours of elliptical.
New York: I love you. But you're so big - I'm going to have to visit you like 20 more times before I feel I've seen enough of you. But not until I save up some money, because Holy Shit, you are expensive.
Babe got her tumor biopsied today.
I felt funny adding photos of Babe with her tumor to the photo set I have of her on Flickr. Here's this set of Babe, right, and oh here, look: that's the tumor that might be cancerous and kill her. At the same time, though, it makes me feel better. Like maybe people will swap their kitty tumor stories with me and it'll make me feel a little less guilty/sad/powerless. Or something.
Sigh. I don't fucking know.
So I don't know when my plan for tonight to "eat healthy and work out" morphed into "eat hawaiian salad for dinner and play DS on the couch," but I feel like Greater Beings were at work making this change. And whoever they are forgot to drop me the memo, until it was too late and all of my energy to do anything had been sucked out of my body through my nifty little stylus.
I will now slightly redeem myself by going and reading a book. And laying on the bed.
Ok.
Who do I have to kill or have sex with to score one of these guys?. My favorite out of the set, who I coined the Luscious Lip Monster and felt had charm that behooved a rendering in MS Paint, I believe already went to the uber-famous, witty, and delightfully self-depricating Mrs. Kennedy. I can't grieve too much; the LLM will have a good home with her.
But seriously: Erin. I can't afford a plane ticket to AZ. So is there someone you need snuffed out in or around Chicago, or a friend - preferably male - in the area that hasn't gotten any lately?
I will put out for Zombie.
I was contacted by these guys to have this photo put in the book version of their website. I said sure, because, well, I mean, whatever. I was flattered. The site is cool, and I'm a sucker for people telling me I'm beautiful.
WeFeelFine.org, you had me at "Inbox: 1."
I realized that I forgot to send a shout-out to my girls Sharyn and Panajane for their well wishes to my cat. It's nice to know I have homies in Minnesota and Panama, watchin' my back.
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Today is so boring at work, I'm just f'n around with Microsoft Paint.
Blah.
Hidey-ho, Internet. Hope you all have had an absolutely superb week since last I wrote. I was sort of in a funk for a couple of days there. More about that later. Anyways, my funk finally lifted last night, thanks to 5+ hours of laying on the couch with my DS. Having a boyfriend who didn't seem to mind that I needed him to cater to my every whim helped alot, too. Didn't say a word when asked if he could turn the TV volume up "just one notch. Really. Any more will be too loud. ONLY ONE NOTCH."
That's love.
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Wisconsin was fun. Just as I thought it would be. Of course, the fact that we were at a wedding helped alot, because weddings, for me, mean Bloody Marys. Bloody Marys in those skinny reception hall glasses are my Achille's Heel. Only this was Motherfuckin' WISCONSIN, yo, so those skinny reception glasses were actually gigantic tumblers of vegetably vodka goodness. What I'm trying to say is that the actual wedding itself is sort of a blur. What I do remember is that I tried my damnedest for the bouquet. Two girls I'd were in on the plan to catch the bouquet, and were ready to take down anyone that tried to stand in my way. But alas, this Wisconsin-bred Amazon that kept on shouting "IT'S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY!!" caught the bouquet instead, but not before I made a drunken move to grab it from her arms, which pretty much beheaded all of the flowers. So ha! A pile of stems doesn't count, Crazy!
There's only a little documentation of the event, and that's only because Steve's cousin and his fiance had the bright idea to bring a camera. I was too busy with my "liquid diet."
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I guess I should update about Babe now. I don't want to, because it makes me sad, but if I can't vomit up my feelings on the Internet, where can I go? Steve's already spending more quality time with himself and his Wii than usual because I'm such a fucking wreck over this. It's probably best I give him a break for the night.
The ER visit of last week was a from a reaction to some antibiotics Babe had been on. She's on antibiotics because about a week ago, Steve noticed a gigantic lump right between her shoulder blades. Turns out Babe has a golfball-sized tumor that seemed to pop up overnight. Her vet is really afraid that it's a particularly nasty tumor called a "vaccine-associated feline sarcoma." If any of you have cats, READ THIS. I didn't even know this existed. I'm not saying don't vaccinate your cats. I'm just asking you to find out EXACTLY what your cat is getting vaccinated for.
Anyways, because of the location of the tumor, and the fast rate that it grew (and continues to grow), Babe's vet is very, very concerned that this is the sort of tumor we're dealing with.
She's getting a biopsy next Wednesday. If they find out that's not what the tumor is, they'll probably just stitch her back up and keep an eye on it until it seems to change her quality of life in any way. If she does have a vaccine-associated sarcoma, chances are the tumor has been fanning out these little microscopic fingers through her tissue, which can only be fought with aggressive radiation.
Steve and I have decided we're not going to take that route if that's what we're dealing with. The first reason is that Babe will have to spend inordinate amounts of time in the hospital, and it's not like you can explain to a cat why you keep on taking her away from the home she loves, and to a scary hospital, where the radiation procedure will probably end up making her feel worse than she did in the first place. I don't want that. If she doesn't have much time with us, I want that time to be here with us. At home.
The second reason that we won't attack this tumor any further is that financially it will massacre us. We love our Blabe Blabe Flava Flave, but we have to be realistic about this. We've already spent over $500 just getting her to this point. It's just hard knowing that, sometimes, you can only do as much as your wallet will let you.
So that's that. I'm not the prayin' type, but please keep Babe in your thoughts if you can.
Destination weddings make me want to crawl into a hole and die.
We're supposed to be headed to one now....instead we spent the evening at the Kitty ER with Babe, for reasons that make my throat close up and my heart skip, so I don't want to talk about them just yet. But we're home, she's okay for now, and tomorrow we're off to Wisconsin for Destination Wedding #1. I guess Wisconsin isn't that big of a destination, it's more just a Place That's Not Here, and somewhere I don't really want to be going to right now, all things considered.
It's cool, I'll enjoy myself once I get there, and Babe's in good hands.
But I'd still rather spend the weekend in bed. With my cat.
I am in love with iGoogle's hilarious gestalt of How To's today:
1. How to leash train a cat
2. How to grow citrus fruits
and, which I know is at the top of my list of things to learn:
3. How to survive a school or workplace shooting.
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Ooooh, look who's pleading guilty. What a selfish prick. I don't know....for some reason I feel that animals being killed is just so much sadder than when humans are killed. Maybe it's the fact that animals can't necessarily understand what's happening until it's happening, or perhaps it's the blind trust that animals - especially dogs - have for people, and then rat bastards like Michael Vick go and senselessly, brutally kill them. I hope he rots while he's in jail, and I hope that the NFL gets a little more stringent on allowing all these thugs back into the League after they've so royally fucked up.
I will now hop off my soapbox.
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Ok, even though it was cancelled due to bad weather, thanks to the week-long practices prior to the Chicago Air and Water Show, I now know that in the time it takes me to walk my dog, the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds can complete their flight path around Chicago three times.
In his defense, Mojo's legs are only about four inches high. Walk tall, Little Buddy. You are the slowest dog on Earth.
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Yesterday I spent my whole day cleaning and disinfecting my apartment, because I have a cleaning lady coming to inspect it on Wednesday, and then tell me how much she'll charge me to clean it once a month.
Steve looked around at my place, pretty much cleaner than it has ever been, ever, and said, "Don't you think we should show her how the place really looks, every day, so she can get a sense of what she's in for?"
Ho HO! Looks like somebody doesn't know the Unwritten Rule that you clean your place up BEFORE the cleaning lady comes, because God forbid a STRANGER learns the depths of squalor in which you normally live! I scoffed in Steve's general direction, as I applied another round of Comet to my bathtub with my right hand and stirred the shower curtain in a bucket of diluted bleach solution with my left.
Men. So misguided.
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That's about it for me. Oh, wait. Two more things:
1. "Superbad" really was one of the funniest movies I've ever seen; and,
2. Look what I get to see on my way to work every morning:
I know, right? Awesome.
Holy crap, yesterday was a day filled with stupid shit, like going to get the nail in my car's back tire taken out, finding out that the tire's a goner, and THEN being told I need A WHOLE NEW SET. Lucky for me, I'm watching some kids this weekend, which should cover the cost of said new tires.
Oh, oh! So I get to the house where the beasts reside, and I notice that the sliding door isn't locking. And, you know, those crappy sliding door locks are so shitty a squirrel could get in without exerting too much effort, so I was sort of nervous to leave it as is. Even though God would have to help the sucker that breaks into a house with four 100+ pound dogs inside - two of which are German Shepherds with aptly frightening German names - a Girl can't be too careful these days. So it was off to the hardware store to pick up some galvanized steel tubing, with rubber stoppers at each end, which fits perfectly in the space between the inner door and the door frame. Ho HO - try to get in NOW, Murderers!
Anyways, I got everything I needed to handle done, and pretty efficiently, because, come on, that's how I roll. But all this was entirely too much Adult Stuff for me to handle in one day, so I had to spend the rest of it in bed, with the DS, alternating between games of Sudoku and Cooking Mama. Both of which I'm hooked on again, ever since I gave up playing this, because I pretty much don't remember anything about January, February, March and the beginning of April thanks to that fucking game. Thanks for nothing, Miyamoto.
This morning, I made Steve's lunch for him to take to work, because last night we did the math, and the man is spending about ten dollars a day eating out for breakfast and lunch in the Loop. A day. So I offered to make Steve's lunch for him, because even though I say my job sucks my soul right out of my body, I do have the luxury of going home for lunch every day. I also have a more selfish reason, which is that at some point in my life with Steve I would really enjoy to get that ring on my finger, and spending ten dollars a day on food isn't going to get us nearer to that goal.
There's really no point to this story, I guess, other than my Beloved complaining - COMPLAINING - that I put a peach in to his lunch bag. "Oh, I don't like peaches," he said. Sorry, bud. Sorry I tried to put something healthy in your lunch. You can go ahead and trade it on the playground for something you really want.
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I'm sure you've all seen the recent Mattel recalls. Since I am a doting aunt who enjoys buying alot of needless crap for her nephew, I scoured the recall list to see what was on it. Nothing that my nephew would be interested in, but it's too bad the Barbie and Tanner "scooper" playsets were on the list. Thousands of girls aren't going to have the chance to pick up Barbie's dog's plastic poop! So sad.
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Time for me to head to lunch. And by "head to lunch," I actually mean:
- take car to service station so they can take the nail out of the tire;
- clean the bathroom;
- use the bathroom for certain things I can only do in the comfort of my own home; and,
- wash dishes.
Sigh. I think I'd rather be trading peaches for Ho-Hos on the playground.
