I have SO MUCH to talk about and SO LITTLE time to do it. I'm so sorry to my two loyal fans who routinely harass me to post new blogs. It just occurred to me that during a boring lecture, it looks like I'm taking notes while I post a blog, so I should be able to post more often.
Just kidding. I think.
So here's a list of snippets that have occurred to me in the last 4 weeks (GOOD GOD! I've been a vet student for four weeks?!) and made me think, "I should put that in my blog." Sorry for the brevity.
- When you're walking your dog in the morning, and can look up and see the stars, it's a definite reality check.
- There is a WORLD of difference between undergrad and grad school. I was informed of this several different times in several different ways as I prepared to enter vet school. They definitely do their best to prepare you. But I'm not sure there's anything in the world to prepare you for 18 hours of advanced science credits. All new study habits are necessary. I'm still catching up.
- There aren't enough hours in the day for everything I need to do. Currently my laundry and house cleaning are suffering. (Of course, this isn't much different than when I was working, so maybe I just don't like to do those things.)
- I used to get up at 7:00am every day and get home by 5:30pm. Now I get up at 5:30am every day (on average) and am home by 5:30pm (on average.) Some days are longer and some are marginally shorter. I was looking forward to being a full time student with nothing but school to worry about. For some reason I thought this would be easier than working 40 hours/week and completing pre-requisites. This was an error in my thinking.
- The thought sometimes occurs to me that I can not believe the complete 180 my life has taken in the last 30 days. I wonder if new moms feel this way? Obviously the situations are different, but in one way they are similar. You KNEW this change was coming, but you didn't really KNOW how different it would be.
- I love my classmates. I really do. Some more than others, obviously, but everyone is really friendly. Still... I ache for my friends. A lot. I miss them every day when I need a pick-me-up or a weekly get together (like volleyball) to look forward to. It kills me that I have to limit myself to one social outing per month with Indy friends because I can't combine all of my friends into one big group to see everyone at once.
- I was considering going the "mixed" vet track (a little of small animal and a large animal) because I thought it would help future job opportunities. Then I had my first husbandry lab where I got to work with sheep. I was not at all intimidated by the sheep, but sheep are BIG. It may have hurt that I accidentally got stuck with the biggest sheep in the flock. After the difficulty I had restraining the sheep (um, I ended up riding the sheep at one point) and I realized that sheep are probably the smallest of large animals, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be a strictly small-animal vet. I'm willing to accept my limitations.
- I'm still stubborn as hell, so I did go back and work with the sheep again. I did succeed in restraining and examining the sheep. It's all about picking a size-appropriate sheep.
- So maybe I'm not good with accepting limitations after all.
- The boy seems to miss me. He couldn't be more attentive and helpful lately. I miss him too, but a part of me is glad we have this long distance arrangement. It's hard enough to get 2-3 hours of study time in before bed while living alone. I have to physically remove myself from the vicinity of the laptop in most cases. If the boy were here, I'm afraid my productivity would drop to zero during the week, and there just aren't enough hours on the weekend alone to keep up. This way I can study study study when he's not here and then spend time with him when he is.
- I was so proud of myself for weaning myself almost completely off of caffeine. Except for a random Starbucks run when I overslept, I was drinking only water or non-caffeinated drinks. Now? I may as well have an IV caffeine drip. I think this goes hand-in-hand with lowering my average sleeping time from 7 hours per night to 5.5 hours of sleep per night.
- I have a husbandry dog that I (and a group of 3 other classmates) am responsible for training and walking each day. He's a very handsome 90lb Labrador Retriever (in the AKC sporting group, btw) who is working on "sit" and "down." He's gigantic. So of course, when the boy met him, he fell in love with him. He will be up for adoption in April after we finish our course. I'm trying to explain to the boy that having two big dogs is much different than having one, but I'm not sure what success I'm having. I'll keep you updated. (On the up side, at least the boy would have ONE non-crazy dog.)
- We have a "Stool Evaluation" chart that we have to follow to record our husbandry dog's bathroom habits. It's a range from 1-6. The boy saw this and will now randomly text me a number telling me how his bowel movements are going. I guess it's the little things that come out of vet school, right?
- I have attempted to claim a seat in our main classroom. Apparently, I chose a plot in prime real estate because I have to battle daily to keep "my seat." I must be slipping because it seems that I have not yet put the fear of God into these young vet classmates. I need to get on that.
- I wear jeans and tennis shoes daily. This seemed like the best! thing! ever! when I was working. Now? I miss cute shoes. It's hard to wear cute shoes and a cute outfit when you're either working with large animals or going to anatomy lab at some point during the day. (Such a hardship, right?)
I'm sure I will have more to tell you later, and I really REALLY wish I could videotape or take pictures of my interactions with the large animals (for the first time ever) but unfortunately that's against the rules. Bummer because seriously. I rode a sheep guys. By accident. Horror!!
Showing posts with label the boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the boy. Show all posts
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Will Clean for WiFi
Other than not having access to the internet at my new home (sniff) I'm all settled in. I mean, sure, there are still pictures (and a wine rack) to hang, and I have to do a good pass through with the vacuum, but otherwise, all moved in. And everything is roses.
A couple of things to mention.
Apparently Indianapolis is a big city. A big city that has its own channels. Like an ABC affiliate, and NBC affiliate, etc. So if a girl doesn't have cable, but has an antenna, she can still see the shows that she loves on network TV. But, um, in Lafayette Indiana, there is no such luxury. Which means that if a girl doesn't want to pay for cable, she's gonna be watching a lot of TV online (and a lot of DVDs during the summer.)
Can you imagine me with no internet and no TV? Also, seriously, if I'm your friend on Facebook and you post TV show spoilers, I will unfriend you. Immediately. No questions asked. You have been warned.
I'm currently camped out in the living room of my good friend Ann. She is generously sharing her WiFi with me. So I can get my fill of Facebook, blogs, online celebrity gossip. You know, the important stuff in life.
And some schoolwork.
Casey is sick and tired of new people and new places. She would like it very much if we could return to Indianapolis, please. We visited last night, and when she got out of the car in her old front yard, she didn't even try to run in the door. She just stood in the front yard with her tail wagging slowly from side to side. It broke my heart. She's just now gotten to the point where she will kennel in the new house without complaint and without freaking out a la Tyson. I think she's been the most difficult part of this move. It's like an unfiltered physical manifestation of all of my sadness and anxiety about leaving the city I've called home for the last 15 years.
I just hope she adjusts soon.
The boy is having similar adjustment issues. I think we've spoken on the phone more since I left town (four days ago) than we have during the entire time we've been dating. Of course, I would be lying if I didn't say that I missed him too. A lot.
I miss everything in Indianapolis. I think I need classes to start to keep me busy.
The cat is having no such issues. Laney loves the new house. She loves the windows and the sunshine, and the new rooms and closets to explore. She's gotten into the habit of pawing (clawing) open my closet door in the mornings to wake me up and make me feed her. Yesterday I closed the closet door after my breakfast and later on that evening I heard a very polite pawing sound coming from somewhere. I opened the closet and Laney walked out and thanked me for letting her out, oh and could she have some food now please? Today I found out that she has chosen inside my closet on top of my plastic drawers and just under the clothes as her place of choice to nap. Great. I'll never be without cat hair on my clothes now.
At least I'll spend all of my time around people who will probably understand.
A couple of things to mention.
Apparently Indianapolis is a big city. A big city that has its own channels. Like an ABC affiliate, and NBC affiliate, etc. So if a girl doesn't have cable, but has an antenna, she can still see the shows that she loves on network TV. But, um, in Lafayette Indiana, there is no such luxury. Which means that if a girl doesn't want to pay for cable, she's gonna be watching a lot of TV online (and a lot of DVDs during the summer.)
Can you imagine me with no internet and no TV? Also, seriously, if I'm your friend on Facebook and you post TV show spoilers, I will unfriend you. Immediately. No questions asked. You have been warned.
I'm currently camped out in the living room of my good friend Ann. She is generously sharing her WiFi with me. So I can get my fill of Facebook, blogs, online celebrity gossip. You know, the important stuff in life.
And some schoolwork.
Casey is sick and tired of new people and new places. She would like it very much if we could return to Indianapolis, please. We visited last night, and when she got out of the car in her old front yard, she didn't even try to run in the door. She just stood in the front yard with her tail wagging slowly from side to side. It broke my heart. She's just now gotten to the point where she will kennel in the new house without complaint and without freaking out a la Tyson. I think she's been the most difficult part of this move. It's like an unfiltered physical manifestation of all of my sadness and anxiety about leaving the city I've called home for the last 15 years.
I just hope she adjusts soon.
The boy is having similar adjustment issues. I think we've spoken on the phone more since I left town (four days ago) than we have during the entire time we've been dating. Of course, I would be lying if I didn't say that I missed him too. A lot.
I miss everything in Indianapolis. I think I need classes to start to keep me busy.
The cat is having no such issues. Laney loves the new house. She loves the windows and the sunshine, and the new rooms and closets to explore. She's gotten into the habit of pawing (clawing) open my closet door in the mornings to wake me up and make me feed her. Yesterday I closed the closet door after my breakfast and later on that evening I heard a very polite pawing sound coming from somewhere. I opened the closet and Laney walked out and thanked me for letting her out, oh and could she have some food now please? Today I found out that she has chosen inside my closet on top of my plastic drawers and just under the clothes as her place of choice to nap. Great. I'll never be without cat hair on my clothes now.
At least I'll spend all of my time around people who will probably understand.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!
The boy and his dog moved in on July 1st. Not-so-coincidentally, I left on July 1st for a long weekend with an old high school friend. I had a ball and came back on the 4th relaxed and refreshed. I came back to a house full of three dogs and a boy and boxes everywhere. But in the spirit of "it's only for a month" I decided to just accept the situation for what it is, and relax. The boy, apparently, didn't get that memo.
And part of me doesn't blame him. Even though it's "our" house for now, it really is "his" house moving forward. He's excited to move his stuff in and make it "homey." No matter how many times I tell him there is no way for this tiny house to look neat and tidy with two people's-worth of stuff in it, he keeps "tidying." And so I sigh, box up another area of my stuff and lug it downstairs.
It's only for a month.
The dogs have adjusted admirably. It helps that after years of resisting* Tyson is now on doggie prozac. Whole. New. Dog. We can leave and he just curls up and sleeps until we get home. No freaking out, no whining... I tell you, it's a miracle. We haven't tried crating him, but without the cat around (who's living the life of luxury in my office right now) there really is no need. He's almost the perfect dog.** Casey is obviously the top of the hierarchy, and the only problem that Blue and Tyson have is that Blue doesn't realize he's temporary and thus isn't really second on the list of command (even though he's lived there longer than Tyson.) So Blue tends to get snippy when Tyson takes the place that he usually lies. It's a fleeting disagreement, but still a sign that for everyone's sanity, I must purge a dog from my house soon. Also a sign? Fitting two pit bulls and the boy in bed with me is just short of comfortable. Especially since Blue will just jump on the bed and literally sleep wherever he lands. No matter what is beneath him. Yay.
Speaking of Blue, he's absolutely shredded the mattress he had in his crate. I think he's protesting the loss of his home where he was free to roam all day long and go outside whenever he pleased. I've told him he's going home soon, but bless his vacant brown eyes, I'm not sure he understands.
Blue goes home July 15th.
My parents seem anxious to be reunited with their dog, even though they're sad to be losing their free, built-in babysitter. When I begin school, it just won't be feasible to pick up Blue and keep him for long periods of time. So in preparation for that, my parents have been doing research on kennels in the city where they live.
They've visited five so far.
And they must visit in person. My mother (who is not a dog person, let us all remember this) wants to see the places herself to deem them worthy of keeping her dog for extended periods of time. One was rejected because it didn't have air conditioning. One is a concern because they have a doggie day care during the day (my mother is concerned that Blue will be picked on because he's so "mild-mannered.) My mom jokes that she and my dad didn't even put this much legwork into selecting colleges for my brother and I. She's not kidding. And even though I'm amused, I'm glad Blue is so loved. What a match made in heaven.
*"Society is over-medicated, Emily," "I am not medicating my dog, Emily," "He doesn't need medication, he's fine."
**It did hurt me to type that. Indeed it did.
And part of me doesn't blame him. Even though it's "our" house for now, it really is "his" house moving forward. He's excited to move his stuff in and make it "homey." No matter how many times I tell him there is no way for this tiny house to look neat and tidy with two people's-worth of stuff in it, he keeps "tidying." And so I sigh, box up another area of my stuff and lug it downstairs.
It's only for a month.
The dogs have adjusted admirably. It helps that after years of resisting* Tyson is now on doggie prozac. Whole. New. Dog. We can leave and he just curls up and sleeps until we get home. No freaking out, no whining... I tell you, it's a miracle. We haven't tried crating him, but without the cat around (who's living the life of luxury in my office right now) there really is no need. He's almost the perfect dog.** Casey is obviously the top of the hierarchy, and the only problem that Blue and Tyson have is that Blue doesn't realize he's temporary and thus isn't really second on the list of command (even though he's lived there longer than Tyson.) So Blue tends to get snippy when Tyson takes the place that he usually lies. It's a fleeting disagreement, but still a sign that for everyone's sanity, I must purge a dog from my house soon. Also a sign? Fitting two pit bulls and the boy in bed with me is just short of comfortable. Especially since Blue will just jump on the bed and literally sleep wherever he lands. No matter what is beneath him. Yay.
Speaking of Blue, he's absolutely shredded the mattress he had in his crate. I think he's protesting the loss of his home where he was free to roam all day long and go outside whenever he pleased. I've told him he's going home soon, but bless his vacant brown eyes, I'm not sure he understands.
Blue goes home July 15th.
My parents seem anxious to be reunited with their dog, even though they're sad to be losing their free, built-in babysitter. When I begin school, it just won't be feasible to pick up Blue and keep him for long periods of time. So in preparation for that, my parents have been doing research on kennels in the city where they live.
They've visited five so far.
And they must visit in person. My mother (who is not a dog person, let us all remember this) wants to see the places herself to deem them worthy of keeping her dog for extended periods of time. One was rejected because it didn't have air conditioning. One is a concern because they have a doggie day care during the day (my mother is concerned that Blue will be picked on because he's so "mild-mannered.) My mom jokes that she and my dad didn't even put this much legwork into selecting colleges for my brother and I. She's not kidding. And even though I'm amused, I'm glad Blue is so loved. What a match made in heaven.
*"Society is over-medicated, Emily," "I am not medicating my dog, Emily," "He doesn't need medication, he's fine."
**It did hurt me to type that. Indeed it did.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Listening Skillz
I have to move again. I would say I'm not looking forward to it because I don't like change, but I'm actually split right down the middle. This move is symbolic of SO MANY life changes coming up that I am equally terrified and elated to make this move. If you add in that the new house is just like the one I'm in now - shabby chic - without the "shabby" and maybe it's 51% elated and 49% terrified.
There are some hurdles to get through first, though. Some readers of this blog have been around since the boy and I lived together so they remember the days when this blog was funny. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR THEM!
When I found my tiny house in my new city, I had the following telephone conversation with the boy on May 2nd:
E: Guess what?
B: What?
E: I found a house in Lafayette!
B: Really? That's great news!
E: I know, right? I haven't seen it yet. I'll go see it on May 14th. If it looks as good as the pictures and the neighborhood is nice, I'll definitely snatch it up. The rent is only $5 more per month than what I'm paying now, can you believe it?
B: Awesome.
In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the boy stopped listening after I said "I found a house in Lafayette." Because he put in his two month notice at his apartment complex that day. Which means he has to be out of his apartment on July 1st.
Did I mention that the boy is taking over the lease for my current house? Ah. Well, he is. Which is helpful because I can leave some stuff in the basement, or move it slowly over the course of three months instead of worrying about moving everything in one day. Nice, right?
Oh, and when I went to see the house on May 14th (it was indeed as adorable as the pictures) I found out that it wasn't availabe until August 1st. Which is perfect for my school schedule. So I agreed to this move in date, signed necessary papers, and put down my deposit.
Because I didn't know that the boy had put in his two months notice on May 2nd.
That tidbit of information was shared with me on the ride back to Lafayette.
Oh yes. The boy was present for me signing all the papers and agreeing to a move in date of August 1st. All the while knowing that he didn't have anywhere to live after July 1st unless it was the house that I'm currently in. The "shabby-chic" house that is no more than 750 square feet. The house that I would not be vacating until August 1st as it turns out.
As you can imagine, I was thrilled to get this news. Live with Tyson again? Sure! Why not? It wasn't that traumatic the first time. It wasn't like that devil dog was one of the reasons why I moved out or anything. Psh. This will be fine.
Even with Blue back until July 15th.
So, just to recap, the boy, Casey, Tyson, Blue and I will all be living in a 750 square foot house. Together. At the same time. All of us.
Laney will be on her own with a very generous friend of mine. Because when I found out this totally awesome information about cohabitation round 2, my only rule was that Tyson and Laney would not live together again. We can not crate Tyson, and there are no extra roomsfor him to tear up beyond recognition to keep him in, so I was not about to leave both Tyson and Laney roming free without supervision. No way. So the boy was charged with finding a temporary home for Laney. Which, to his credit, he did.
So mark your calendars. July 1st. Plenty of amusing blogs coming your way, I'm sure. After all, what could possibly go wrong with making three pit bulls and two humans live together in 750 square feet? Nothing, right? Awesome. I should contact Fox. Surely this deserves its own reality TV show.
There are some hurdles to get through first, though. Some readers of this blog have been around since the boy and I lived together so they remember the days when this blog was funny. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR THEM!
When I found my tiny house in my new city, I had the following telephone conversation with the boy on May 2nd:
E: Guess what?
B: What?
E: I found a house in Lafayette!
B: Really? That's great news!
E: I know, right? I haven't seen it yet. I'll go see it on May 14th. If it looks as good as the pictures and the neighborhood is nice, I'll definitely snatch it up. The rent is only $5 more per month than what I'm paying now, can you believe it?
B: Awesome.
In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the boy stopped listening after I said "I found a house in Lafayette." Because he put in his two month notice at his apartment complex that day. Which means he has to be out of his apartment on July 1st.
Did I mention that the boy is taking over the lease for my current house? Ah. Well, he is. Which is helpful because I can leave some stuff in the basement, or move it slowly over the course of three months instead of worrying about moving everything in one day. Nice, right?
Oh, and when I went to see the house on May 14th (it was indeed as adorable as the pictures) I found out that it wasn't availabe until August 1st. Which is perfect for my school schedule. So I agreed to this move in date, signed necessary papers, and put down my deposit.
Because I didn't know that the boy had put in his two months notice on May 2nd.
That tidbit of information was shared with me on the ride back to Lafayette.
Oh yes. The boy was present for me signing all the papers and agreeing to a move in date of August 1st. All the while knowing that he didn't have anywhere to live after July 1st unless it was the house that I'm currently in. The "shabby-chic" house that is no more than 750 square feet. The house that I would not be vacating until August 1st as it turns out.
As you can imagine, I was thrilled to get this news. Live with Tyson again? Sure! Why not? It wasn't that traumatic the first time. It wasn't like that devil dog was one of the reasons why I moved out or anything. Psh. This will be fine.
Even with Blue back until July 15th.
So, just to recap, the boy, Casey, Tyson, Blue and I will all be living in a 750 square foot house. Together. At the same time. All of us.
Laney will be on her own with a very generous friend of mine. Because when I found out this totally awesome information about cohabitation round 2, my only rule was that Tyson and Laney would not live together again. We can not crate Tyson, and there are no extra rooms
So mark your calendars. July 1st. Plenty of amusing blogs coming your way, I'm sure. After all, what could possibly go wrong with making three pit bulls and two humans live together in 750 square feet? Nothing, right? Awesome. I should contact Fox. Surely this deserves its own reality TV show.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
And They Said it Couldn't be Done.
So Memorial Day weekend was fun. After taking the appropriate time to think about the reason for the extra day off
work and thank our troops for protecting us, Casey, Tyson, the boy and I went on several adventures. Adventures that left my dog like this 24 hours after the long weekend ended.
We started by going to visit the boy's parents. Where we had beer. Quite a bit of beer, come to think of it. Which is probably where this whole idea was born. You see, I spent the week before Memorial Day weekend referring to our trip to visit the boy's parents as the weekend of "six dogs, five people."
Six dog, five people, you ask? You mean the dogs outnumbered the people?! INSANITY!
I know, right?
Since I have become a pit bull advocate, I have adopted out six pit bulls - seven if you count my own. That's not a huge number by any means, but it's a number that I'm proud of because the now pit bull owners either did not previously have dogs, or hadn't ever considered owning one of this much maligned breed. And now? Some of them own two. Which is how we ended up in the weekend of "six dogs, five people" where all the dogs were pit bulls. And since all of the dogs (that outnumbered the people) were getting along famously, and since they were all pit bulls, I got the crazy idea that we should line the dogs up according to size, make them all sit, and then take a picture.
To which the boy's dad said, "That will never work."
Now, let me give you a quick lesson in Emily-Psychology 101, dear internet readers. If you want to absolutely ensure that Emily does something, make sure to say something to the effect of, "You can't do that," or "You'll never do that," or "That's impossible." Pretty much all I hear when you say that is "Challenge Extended*" If you want to make sure I'll die trying to prove you wrong, make sure there's plenty of beer involved.
And so, I set about to make my dream a reality. I had some help, as you can see. And, as you can see from the "setup"**
the dogs did not originally begin in the correct order. Since we needed one photographer, we only had four people to prep six dogs. Everyone was a good sport about saying "sit" and "stay" over and over and over in increasingly stern voices. (Commands that I'm not entirely convinced that every dog understood, but since everyone else was sitting, the rest probably figured, "Meh. Why not.") In the end, as I held my peanut butter-covered hands out in front of me and backed away slowly, we got the picture below. No Photoshop needed. Absolute Perfection.
Behold, "Obedience." In order from left to right we have Izzie, Fatty, Lilly, Casey, Tyson and Odie. We had some difficulty deciding if Fatty was bigger than Izzie. I think we decided that he's bigger, although maybe not taller? And Odie is MUCH bigger than Tyson, but unfortunately his hip dysplasia makes him sit on his haunches, which makes him look not only shorter, but like we beat him into submission to get him in the picture. (We didn't.) My dog is the only one with her tongue out. (there's a joke in there somewhere, yes?)
Oh, and I was also proven right. Again.
Seriously, can you believe they're all looking at the camera? Seriously? Click on the picture and zoom in on it. It's ridiculous how cute they all are.***
*Why yes, I watch How I Met Your Mother. Barney Stinson is my hero. High Five!
**As much as I would like to say that I am not the gigantic butt in the middle of the picture, we all know that would be a lie. Le Sigh.
***But do NOT click on the picture with my gigantic butt in it. No one needs to see that.
work and thank our troops for protecting us, Casey, Tyson, the boy and I went on several adventures. Adventures that left my dog like this 24 hours after the long weekend ended.We started by going to visit the boy's parents. Where we had beer. Quite a bit of beer, come to think of it. Which is probably where this whole idea was born. You see, I spent the week before Memorial Day weekend referring to our trip to visit the boy's parents as the weekend of "six dogs, five people."
Six dog, five people, you ask? You mean the dogs outnumbered the people?! INSANITY!
I know, right?
Since I have become a pit bull advocate, I have adopted out six pit bulls - seven if you count my own. That's not a huge number by any means, but it's a number that I'm proud of because the now pit bull owners either did not previously have dogs, or hadn't ever considered owning one of this much maligned breed. And now? Some of them own two. Which is how we ended up in the weekend of "six dogs, five people" where all the dogs were pit bulls. And since all of the dogs (that outnumbered the people) were getting along famously, and since they were all pit bulls, I got the crazy idea that we should line the dogs up according to size, make them all sit, and then take a picture.
To which the boy's dad said, "That will never work."
Now, let me give you a quick lesson in Emily-Psychology 101, dear internet readers. If you want to absolutely ensure that Emily does something, make sure to say something to the effect of, "You can't do that," or "You'll never do that," or "That's impossible." Pretty much all I hear when you say that is "Challenge Extended*" If you want to make sure I'll die trying to prove you wrong, make sure there's plenty of beer involved.
And so, I set about to make my dream a reality. I had some help, as you can see. And, as you can see from the "setup"**
the dogs did not originally begin in the correct order. Since we needed one photographer, we only had four people to prep six dogs. Everyone was a good sport about saying "sit" and "stay" over and over and over in increasingly stern voices. (Commands that I'm not entirely convinced that every dog understood, but since everyone else was sitting, the rest probably figured, "Meh. Why not.") In the end, as I held my peanut butter-covered hands out in front of me and backed away slowly, we got the picture below. No Photoshop needed. Absolute Perfection.Behold, "Obedience." In order from left to right we have Izzie, Fatty, Lilly, Casey, Tyson and Odie. We had some difficulty deciding if Fatty was bigger than Izzie. I think we decided that he's bigger, although maybe not taller? And Odie is MUCH bigger than Tyson, but unfortunately his hip dysplasia makes him sit on his haunches, which makes him look not only shorter, but like we beat him into submission to get him in the picture. (We didn't.) My dog is the only one with her tongue out. (there's a joke in there somewhere, yes?)
Oh, and I was also proven right. Again.
Seriously, can you believe they're all looking at the camera? Seriously? Click on the picture and zoom in on it. It's ridiculous how cute they all are.***
*Why yes, I watch How I Met Your Mother. Barney Stinson is my hero. High Five!
**As much as I would like to say that I am not the gigantic butt in the middle of the picture, we all know that would be a lie. Le Sigh.
***But do NOT click on the picture with my gigantic butt in it. No one needs to see that.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Role Reversal
The boy and I attended our second of three weddings this year. We were both just attendees, and since I got to pick my outfit, I went with this dress. 
The wedding was in my hometown, which is quite a bit farther south than Indy, so even though it was overcast and cloudy here, the weather turned into a balmy 75 degrees that day, so the dress was perfect.
Wow did I love this dress. It's made of a jersey material and it's empire waisted, so it was as comfortable as a t-shirt. I paired it with some silver heels, a silver wrap and purse, and I was good to go. Loved loved loved this dress.
As I wasadmiring myself in the mirror getting ready to leave for the wedding, I heard an "Oh no!" exclamation from my bedroom. I went back in to find the boy standing in the middle of the room with panic in his eyes. Apparently his pants (the only dress pants he had brought with him) would not button.
Let me give you some background info on the boy and I. While I have a love/hate relationship with food and it's resulting effect on my body, the boy has no such issues. Dare I say, the boy can eat what he wants and never gain weight. In fact, during several discussions about how much I hate how I look, the boy has had the audacity to say, "Why don't you just lose the weight?" like it's that easy. Which it is. For him. Notsomuch for me.
And whereas I have to work for weeks to be able to run 5 miles, the boy can get up off the couch and run 5 miles without so much as a warm-up.
At least... he could.
Ever since the big 3-0 hit for him (the milestone that we're not allowed to talk about) the boy has been struggling in that silent man way that boys tend to struggle. Suddenly he can't just up and run five miles. And suddenly he can't complete a bike ride when Emily can.* And SUDDENLY, it appears that perhaps the metabolism has slowed some?
I still can't talk about the big 3-0 to the boy, but as an older male mutual friend of ours said, "It only gets worse, I'm afraid."
So the pants. They would not button. And I would be lying if I said that I didn't smirk. But we figured out some workarounds that I have up my sleeve (this is not my first rodeo) and the boy was set.
For the entire car ride to the wedding, I had to remind myself that this was his first experience with clothes that used to fit, and then mysteriously shrunk at the dry cleaners. I had to endure comments like, "I'm not eating dinner tonight. I just won't eat dinner. Or breakfast. Or lunch tomorrow," and "I need to start working out. Like tonight. When we get home I'm going for a run."
I showed admirable restraint, believe it or not.
I explained that I knew (intimately) the panic that he was feeling, but that an over-reaction would not solve this issue. No use in burning himself out by throwing himself into workouts while starving himself. That's just a recipe for disaster. Better to eat sensibly at dinner that night and then make a workout schedule for the upcoming week(s.)
He still ate two pieces of friend chicken. And mashed potatoes and gravy. Apparently the panic passes quickly for males. But boy was he uncomfortable after dinner.
After the bulk of the reception and our required one slow dance, the boy urgently told me that we had to leave. We had to leave the reception right now! Why? Because someone had to use the restroom to go #2 and apparently this is not done in public by decent menfolk.
So the whole way home was an URGENT URGENT drive. Until we got home. And the boy was able to take off his pants. Then? The urge wasn't quite so pressing. In fact, he was just fine.
Amateur.
*Granted, Emily TRAINED FOR THE BIKE RIDE ALL SUMMER and the boy did NOT, but that didn't seem to matter. Ahem.
The wedding was in my hometown, which is quite a bit farther south than Indy, so even though it was overcast and cloudy here, the weather turned into a balmy 75 degrees that day, so the dress was perfect.Wow did I love this dress. It's made of a jersey material and it's empire waisted, so it was as comfortable as a t-shirt. I paired it with some silver heels, a silver wrap and purse, and I was good to go. Loved loved loved this dress.
As I was
Let me give you some background info on the boy and I. While I have a love/hate relationship with food and it's resulting effect on my body, the boy has no such issues. Dare I say, the boy can eat what he wants and never gain weight. In fact, during several discussions about how much I hate how I look, the boy has had the audacity to say, "Why don't you just lose the weight?" like it's that easy. Which it is. For him. Notsomuch for me.
And whereas I have to work for weeks to be able to run 5 miles, the boy can get up off the couch and run 5 miles without so much as a warm-up.
At least... he could.
Ever since the big 3-0 hit for him (the milestone that we're not allowed to talk about) the boy has been struggling in that silent man way that boys tend to struggle. Suddenly he can't just up and run five miles. And suddenly he can't complete a bike ride when Emily can.* And SUDDENLY, it appears that perhaps the metabolism has slowed some?
I still can't talk about the big 3-0 to the boy, but as an older male mutual friend of ours said, "It only gets worse, I'm afraid."
So the pants. They would not button. And I would be lying if I said that I didn't smirk. But we figured out some workarounds that I have up my sleeve (this is not my first rodeo) and the boy was set.
For the entire car ride to the wedding, I had to remind myself that this was his first experience with clothes that used to fit, and then mysteriously shrunk at the dry cleaners. I had to endure comments like, "I'm not eating dinner tonight. I just won't eat dinner. Or breakfast. Or lunch tomorrow," and "I need to start working out. Like tonight. When we get home I'm going for a run."
I showed admirable restraint, believe it or not.
I explained that I knew (intimately) the panic that he was feeling, but that an over-reaction would not solve this issue. No use in burning himself out by throwing himself into workouts while starving himself. That's just a recipe for disaster. Better to eat sensibly at dinner that night and then make a workout schedule for the upcoming week(s.)
He still ate two pieces of friend chicken. And mashed potatoes and gravy. Apparently the panic passes quickly for males. But boy was he uncomfortable after dinner.
After the bulk of the reception and our required one slow dance, the boy urgently told me that we had to leave. We had to leave the reception right now! Why? Because someone had to use the restroom to go #2 and apparently this is not done in public by decent menfolk.
So the whole way home was an URGENT URGENT drive. Until we got home. And the boy was able to take off his pants. Then? The urge wasn't quite so pressing. In fact, he was just fine.
Amateur.
*Granted, Emily TRAINED FOR THE BIKE RIDE ALL SUMMER and the boy did NOT, but that didn't seem to matter. Ahem.
Monday, March 07, 2011
Traitorous
On Friday night I was out with a longtime girlfriend and we had a margarita (or two.) By the time the boy checked in on my whereabouts, I was at the tail end of my second margarita (I won't go into details about how large it was) and feeling that all was right with the world. So when the boy suggested that he would drive me home, I did not argue.
When we got to my house, I invited the boy in for a "cup of tea." He accepted, but told me, "Baby, I can't stay. I have to work tomorrow."
"Oh no! That sucks!" (inside I was gleefully rejoicing. We'll get to why later.) "I miss you when you're not around," I pouted.
When it came time for the boy to leave I emerged from the bathroom with teeth brushed, face cream on, and in warm fuzzy pajamas - fully intending to give the boy a good night/good bye kiss. Instead I found him lying on my bed under the covers.
"What are you doing?!" I exclaimed.
"What? I'm tired and don't want to go home. I thought we could snuggle." The boy said this with what would, under normal circumstances, have been an adorable smile.
"You said you weren't staying! You can't stay! What are you doing?!"
The boy, thoroughly confused at this point, sat up and asked, "But you were upset that I was leaving?"
"I was being nice! What girlfriend is HAPPY when her boyfriend doesn't stay at her place? It wouldn't have been politically correct to say, 'Oh good. I don't want you to stay because I have an early morning and I don't sleep well when you're in the bed with me and two 50lb pitbulls*.' I was trying to be a good girlfriend!!"
(All of this was said in a very loud and panicked voice, I might add.)
"So put the dogs in their crates for the night."
"In their crates?!" I was horrified. "Um, they LIVE here. You do not. I will not displace them for a visitor."
"And you see nothing wrong with that logic?"
"No." I considered briefly through my margarita haze. (The "all is right with the world" feeling was long gone.) "Fine. Stay. I won't sleep and I'll hate you. Whatever." I dramatically threw myself into the bed and promptly "fell asleep."
At 2:00am, curled into a tiny ball in the only free space available on the bed, I awoke, already angry. I tossed and turned for a while, shoved some dogs onto the boy who snored briefly before turning over, and then said loudly, "Fine! I'm going to the couch! I KNEW this would happen!!"
The boy mumbled something incoherently.
Furiously, I stalked to the couch with a blanket and my pillow. Once I made myself comfortable and started drifting off to sleep, the feelings of self pity came.
"Here I am. All by myself. Nobody loves me. Nobody cares that I'm out here all alone. I hate everyone. I can't believe no one cares about me."
In the midst of the self pity, I heard a soft padding that I first thought was imagined. Then Laney jumped on the top of the couch near my head and began purring.
"Yes! Laney loves me! Laney who is so low maintenance that she often takes a back set to the needy dogs in the house! I love Laney! Laney is the only one who truly cares about me. I will have to make it a point to give her some good scratches at least once a day from now on. She's such a good cat. She's always hated the boy. She's so smart."
Contented, I began to fall asleep in earnest. I awoke to a thud followed by the unmistakable sound of claws clicking on hardwood floor. A few seconds later, Blue's cold nose was on the side of my neck. A few seconds after that, a large blue body landed square on my stomach, forcing all of the air out of my lungs.
"Oof," I grunted, and turned on my side in the fetal position. Blue took the opportunity to curl up between my knees and stomach and to put his head on my waist. When I caught my breath, I was enamored with how cute he was. See! Blue loved me!! All was not lost! Blue AND Laney loved me. The boy could go ahead and sleep alone. I was loved. I cared not.
A second thud sounded and more claws clicked on the hardwood floor. Casey's nose nuzzled my head for a second. I braced myself for the second dog on my body.
A few seconds passed.
More seconds passed.
Then the claws clicked away back to the bedroom, and jumped back on the bed.
I was furious. "TRAITOR!! Blue isn't even my dog anymore, and HE'S here with me. Laney takes a backseat to the dogs, and SHE'S here. Casey is MY DOG!!! What the heck?"
I fell asleep angry.
The next morning I awoke to my alarm and began preparations to leave the house. I took no care to be quiet, but when I entered my bedroom, I found the boy and Casey curled together in a similar position to what I had just abandoned with Blue. Normally the cuteness would have made me smile, but in this instance, they may has well have both had "Traitor" branded on their foreheads.
"FOR SHAME!" I hissed.
The boy, having no idea of the drama that had occurred in the night, awoke confused. "Wha?"
"You don't love me! I hate you." I said to him. "And YOU!" I shifted my accusing finger to Casey, "YOU are going back to the Humane Society."
"You didn't adopt her from the Humane Society."
"WHATEVER!"
Blue padded into the bedroom sleepily and jumped back on the bed to sleep a bit more. The boy surmised what had happened and looked amused.
"Does your dog love me more than you?"
"Whatever. You're both dead to me."
As I was leaving, the boy asked if he was ever allowed to sleep over again. I gave him a list of things he could do before he left my house in order to regain favor and explained that he was on probation until Blue left. Then we could re-negotiate. He saluted. "Aye aye, Captain."
It was at this exact moment, as I was walking out the door, that Blue farted.
And all was, once again, right with the world.
Maybe my parents won't notice if I switch dogs?
*Yes, Blue has been with me for five weeks and won't go home for another two.
When we got to my house, I invited the boy in for a "cup of tea." He accepted, but told me, "Baby, I can't stay. I have to work tomorrow."
"Oh no! That sucks!" (inside I was gleefully rejoicing. We'll get to why later.) "I miss you when you're not around," I pouted.
When it came time for the boy to leave I emerged from the bathroom with teeth brushed, face cream on, and in warm fuzzy pajamas - fully intending to give the boy a good night/good bye kiss. Instead I found him lying on my bed under the covers.
"What are you doing?!" I exclaimed.
"What? I'm tired and don't want to go home. I thought we could snuggle." The boy said this with what would, under normal circumstances, have been an adorable smile.
"You said you weren't staying! You can't stay! What are you doing?!"
The boy, thoroughly confused at this point, sat up and asked, "But you were upset that I was leaving?"
"I was being nice! What girlfriend is HAPPY when her boyfriend doesn't stay at her place? It wouldn't have been politically correct to say, 'Oh good. I don't want you to stay because I have an early morning and I don't sleep well when you're in the bed with me and two 50lb pitbulls*.' I was trying to be a good girlfriend!!"
(All of this was said in a very loud and panicked voice, I might add.)
"So put the dogs in their crates for the night."
"In their crates?!" I was horrified. "Um, they LIVE here. You do not. I will not displace them for a visitor."
"And you see nothing wrong with that logic?"
"No." I considered briefly through my margarita haze. (The "all is right with the world" feeling was long gone.) "Fine. Stay. I won't sleep and I'll hate you. Whatever." I dramatically threw myself into the bed and promptly "fell asleep."
At 2:00am, curled into a tiny ball in the only free space available on the bed, I awoke, already angry. I tossed and turned for a while, shoved some dogs onto the boy who snored briefly before turning over, and then said loudly, "Fine! I'm going to the couch! I KNEW this would happen!!"
The boy mumbled something incoherently.
Furiously, I stalked to the couch with a blanket and my pillow. Once I made myself comfortable and started drifting off to sleep, the feelings of self pity came.
"Here I am. All by myself. Nobody loves me. Nobody cares that I'm out here all alone. I hate everyone. I can't believe no one cares about me."
In the midst of the self pity, I heard a soft padding that I first thought was imagined. Then Laney jumped on the top of the couch near my head and began purring.
"Yes! Laney loves me! Laney who is so low maintenance that she often takes a back set to the needy dogs in the house! I love Laney! Laney is the only one who truly cares about me. I will have to make it a point to give her some good scratches at least once a day from now on. She's such a good cat. She's always hated the boy. She's so smart."
Contented, I began to fall asleep in earnest. I awoke to a thud followed by the unmistakable sound of claws clicking on hardwood floor. A few seconds later, Blue's cold nose was on the side of my neck. A few seconds after that, a large blue body landed square on my stomach, forcing all of the air out of my lungs.
"Oof," I grunted, and turned on my side in the fetal position. Blue took the opportunity to curl up between my knees and stomach and to put his head on my waist. When I caught my breath, I was enamored with how cute he was. See! Blue loved me!! All was not lost! Blue AND Laney loved me. The boy could go ahead and sleep alone. I was loved. I cared not.
A second thud sounded and more claws clicked on the hardwood floor. Casey's nose nuzzled my head for a second. I braced myself for the second dog on my body.
A few seconds passed.
More seconds passed.
Then the claws clicked away back to the bedroom, and jumped back on the bed.
I was furious. "TRAITOR!! Blue isn't even my dog anymore, and HE'S here with me. Laney takes a backseat to the dogs, and SHE'S here. Casey is MY DOG!!! What the heck?"
I fell asleep angry.
The next morning I awoke to my alarm and began preparations to leave the house. I took no care to be quiet, but when I entered my bedroom, I found the boy and Casey curled together in a similar position to what I had just abandoned with Blue. Normally the cuteness would have made me smile, but in this instance, they may has well have both had "Traitor" branded on their foreheads.
"FOR SHAME!" I hissed.
The boy, having no idea of the drama that had occurred in the night, awoke confused. "Wha?"
"You don't love me! I hate you." I said to him. "And YOU!" I shifted my accusing finger to Casey, "YOU are going back to the Humane Society."
"You didn't adopt her from the Humane Society."
"WHATEVER!"
Blue padded into the bedroom sleepily and jumped back on the bed to sleep a bit more. The boy surmised what had happened and looked amused.
"Does your dog love me more than you?"
"Whatever. You're both dead to me."
As I was leaving, the boy asked if he was ever allowed to sleep over again. I gave him a list of things he could do before he left my house in order to regain favor and explained that he was on probation until Blue left. Then we could re-negotiate. He saluted. "Aye aye, Captain."
It was at this exact moment, as I was walking out the door, that Blue farted.
And all was, once again, right with the world.
Maybe my parents won't notice if I switch dogs?
*Yes, Blue has been with me for five weeks and won't go home for another two.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Transparent
I'm reading a really good book right now. I know I'm late to the party with this one, but it really is a very good, engrossing book with several discussion points. And I'm not even through the entire trilogy yet. By the end, my book club is going to be BEGGING me to shut up, but it's totally their fault that I'm reading these books in the first place.
The Golden Compass has several areas that I would love to discuss in detail, but the one that strikes me the most is the idea of 'daemons.'
I'm torn on how to say the word to myself. Is it "daymon" or "deemon?" Since the idea isn't an evil one, I usually settle on "daymon."
In the book, everyone has a daemon. In a nutshell, daemons are an animal form that is sort of a physical manifestation of a person's soul. I would compare them to a witch's familiar, but that's not quite right. The way the link between the human and their daemon is described is deeper than that. It's described in such a way that the two can not live (sort of) if separated. The animal form that your daemon takes is a reflection of the sort of person you are. You feel each other's feelings and hear each other's thoughts.
I am fascinated by this idea. Fascinated. Think about how much easier life would be if there was no need to pretend? If who you are and, to some extent, how you feel were on display all the time? zlionsfan is much more cynical than I am and says that the world wouldn't change much if daemons really existed. People would still try to pretend to be something they're not. I choose to believe otherwise. Because so many people behave in a certain manner based on their insecurities. (I'm not excluding myself here.) And all that energy is just...wasted. There's a passage in the book between the main character and an advisor where main character asks what happens if a person doesn't like the shape their daemon takes. The response is:
"Well, then, you're discontented, en't you? There's plenty of folk as'd like to have a lion as a daemon and they end up with a poodle. And 'till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they're going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is."
I LOVE this. I think it would be so much easier to accept who you are and how people see you if there was a physical manifestation that couldn't be hidden. Because you can always tell when someone is acting out of insecurity. When they're so sensitive to criticism or attention because they're so afraid of being seen as something other than what they want. And that makes me sad every time. It takes a long time to learn to love yourself. I know I'm still working on it. It would be so much easier with a daemon.
I mean, it would suck if your daemon were a... shrew, for instance. And you thought that you were a... Persian cat, maybe. But still, there are good points to being a shrew. I can't think of any right now, but EMBRACE your shrew-ness. It will make you happier in the long run*.
But enough of the serious stuff. The point here is that Candy, zlionsfan and I spent a better portion of Christmas return
trip home discussing what our daemons would be. It was fun, and I won't reveal theirs, but I will say that I didn't get far from the bulldog that the boy already said I was. I was upgraded slightly to a pit bull, and I think I'm okay with that. I mean, can I choose which pit bull? Because Casey and Blue are like night and day. And realistically, I'm pretty sure my characteristics would mirror Casey, but boy, is Blue pretty.
Slightly related - the boy and I did our annual Christmas letters again this year, and in his letter, he rescinded the bulldog analogy and upgraded (??) me to a pit bull as well. And this was without knowing the conversation that had occurred on the drive home from Christmas.
Well, at least I don't have to worry about having an underbite anymore.
I'm curious to know what you would think YOUR daemon would be? I don't usually solicit comments, but if you read this and you know, tell me. I would love to hear.
*For any shrews who may be reading this and don't know me personally, this paragraph was written completely in jest. I am well aware that there are good characteristics to shrews and I mean no offense.
The Golden Compass has several areas that I would love to discuss in detail, but the one that strikes me the most is the idea of 'daemons.'
I'm torn on how to say the word to myself. Is it "daymon" or "deemon?" Since the idea isn't an evil one, I usually settle on "daymon."
In the book, everyone has a daemon. In a nutshell, daemons are an animal form that is sort of a physical manifestation of a person's soul. I would compare them to a witch's familiar, but that's not quite right. The way the link between the human and their daemon is described is deeper than that. It's described in such a way that the two can not live (sort of) if separated. The animal form that your daemon takes is a reflection of the sort of person you are. You feel each other's feelings and hear each other's thoughts.
I am fascinated by this idea. Fascinated. Think about how much easier life would be if there was no need to pretend? If who you are and, to some extent, how you feel were on display all the time? zlionsfan is much more cynical than I am and says that the world wouldn't change much if daemons really existed. People would still try to pretend to be something they're not. I choose to believe otherwise. Because so many people behave in a certain manner based on their insecurities. (I'm not excluding myself here.) And all that energy is just...wasted. There's a passage in the book between the main character and an advisor where main character asks what happens if a person doesn't like the shape their daemon takes. The response is:
"Well, then, you're discontented, en't you? There's plenty of folk as'd like to have a lion as a daemon and they end up with a poodle. And 'till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they're going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is."
I LOVE this. I think it would be so much easier to accept who you are and how people see you if there was a physical manifestation that couldn't be hidden. Because you can always tell when someone is acting out of insecurity. When they're so sensitive to criticism or attention because they're so afraid of being seen as something other than what they want. And that makes me sad every time. It takes a long time to learn to love yourself. I know I'm still working on it. It would be so much easier with a daemon.
I mean, it would suck if your daemon were a... shrew, for instance. And you thought that you were a... Persian cat, maybe. But still, there are good points to being a shrew. I can't think of any right now, but EMBRACE your shrew-ness. It will make you happier in the long run*.
But enough of the serious stuff. The point here is that Candy, zlionsfan and I spent a better portion of Christmas return
trip home discussing what our daemons would be. It was fun, and I won't reveal theirs, but I will say that I didn't get far from the bulldog that the boy already said I was. I was upgraded slightly to a pit bull, and I think I'm okay with that. I mean, can I choose which pit bull? Because Casey and Blue are like night and day. And realistically, I'm pretty sure my characteristics would mirror Casey, but boy, is Blue pretty.Slightly related - the boy and I did our annual Christmas letters again this year, and in his letter, he rescinded the bulldog analogy and upgraded (??) me to a pit bull as well. And this was without knowing the conversation that had occurred on the drive home from Christmas.
Well, at least I don't have to worry about having an underbite anymore.
I'm curious to know what you would think YOUR daemon would be? I don't usually solicit comments, but if you read this and you know, tell me. I would love to hear.
*For any shrews who may be reading this and don't know me personally, this paragraph was written completely in jest. I am well aware that there are good characteristics to shrews and I mean no offense.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Radio Silence
I keep putting off posting a new blog. Not that there's nothing to talk about, just that I can't seem to find anything around which I would like to build a blog. (I really like the phrase "build a blog" btw. I keep saying it over and over.)
Anyhow, in light of this reluctance to blog, I have decided that I will post random snippets to help out any blog readers I have left (hello? are you out there?) who happen to be bored and searching for entertainment. (oh, and also? My most vocal blog prodder just had twins - one of which is named Emily, ahem - so that's why she hasn't been prodding me much lately.)
* Fall has cometh and with it I have a healthy dog again. Woot! Her coat is beautiful, her eyes are no longer red rimmed, AND she's losing weight. What. A. Relief. I know this happens every year, so it's no surprise, but it is always a relief. The summer months must be terrible for her, and, like any good mother, I hate to see that. Luckily, we seem to have stumbled upon a drug regimen that might help stave off her symptoms next year even while keeping her in a zombie-like state. Still, zombie dog > monster dog. Keep your fingers crossed.
* With the onset of cold weather, Casey has started this new behavior that is disturbing only because it shows how smart she is. I like to keep my house cold at night and Casey sleeps in the bed with me. During the night we move apart because we both need our own space, but as soon as she hears my alarm go off in the morning, she get up, stretches, then cuddles up right next to my stomach. It's like the worst snooze button in the world. Seriously. I haven't been on time once since the cold set in.
* I know that news about vet school admission won't come until December, but I can't help but tense up each time I check the mail these days. Just reject me and get it over with already! I'm resigned to the fact that I'll have to try again. I promise. It's the waiting that I can not bear.
* Remember when I got my ears pierced? Yeah. It turns out that it takes less time to heal from a tattoo than it does for me to heal from these stinking piercings. There is one in particular that seems to be testing me in a battle of wills, and it's not the "weird" one. I got my tragus pierced, as well as three more lobe piercings. So in total, I have three piercings in each ear - two in my left lobe + the tragus, and three in my right ear. The third one in my right ear just does NOT want to heal. It's like my ear is saying, "Look, bitch - we lived just fine with one piercing in this ear for thirty-two years, and now you want three? We'll just see about that." ARGH. I think I knew I would have trouble with this coming into it given that my ears seem sensitive to anything other than 24-carat gold. But five months later?! Argh, I tell you. Argh.
* This semester of school is my first one without organic chemistry since this time last year. This is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I can actually succeed in these classes. Curse because I find myself thinking, "Study? I don't need to study. I am too smart for these classes." Yeah. After my first round of tests I went through the whole "Thank you, Lord, for teaching me humility" ritual.
* Do you know what you should never do? Look up your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend on Facebook. It doesn't matter how secure you feel about your life and relationship - nothing good can come of this.
* I did not do anything for Halloween this year save ogle my friend's children in their adorable costumes. It was a pretty relaxing holiday. I fear this is the onset of old age.
* I completed my last bike ride of the season on October 30th. The wind was just as terrible as another ride I did. Still, I got a free beer at the end of the ride to celebrate, so that took some of the sting off. And that ride brought my mileage total for the summer to 1353 - way beyond the goal I set. That was a nice achievement. Now to move on to the next one.
* Right. We had our second annual reunion for those who studied abroad in Costa Rica this past month. It was fantastic and I could blog about it forever. Seriously. These people astound me, and the fact that they are my friends is continually amazing. And so it was the perfect storm when we stumbled upon this relay race, and they all immediately wanted to put a team together. Nevermind that I dislike running. Nevermind that I haven't run a mile in over three years. I respect these folks and they threw down a challenge. "Challenge Extended" to quote Barney Stinson. I have no choice but to accept. So if you weren't ready for this blog to become a bunch of complaining about the horrors of running, prepare yourself now.
* I've never mentioned this before, but the one thing that I will always have from the boy (should this relationship end) is an outstanding collection of outerwear. Seriously. For the last few Christmases and Birthdays (beginning with the trek to Peru, come to think of it) the boy has gifted me with more coats and jackets than I thought were available for purchase. This one for cold weather above 40 degrees Fahrenheit. This one for cold weather below 40 degrees. This one for cold weather with precipitation. This one for warmer weather with precipitation. This one for riding my bike in the rain. It's ridiculous. I had to put a stop to it after the last one because, really, do I seem like a girl who would ride her bike in the rain? Still, I guess I am completely covered for any sort of weather patterns I should ever face. Ever.
* Next semester I will only have one final class to complete, and it's only two credit hours. That's the fewest credit hours I've taken since I started this endeavor in fall of 2007. Holy Cow. That's both terrifying and exciting. Exciting because, woo hoo I'm almost done! Terrifying because I've reached the end of things that I can control in my quest to be a vet. Now we just cross our fingers and wait, yes? Please think good thoughts...
Anyhow, in light of this reluctance to blog, I have decided that I will post random snippets to help out any blog readers I have left (hello? are you out there?) who happen to be bored and searching for entertainment. (oh, and also? My most vocal blog prodder just had twins - one of which is named Emily, ahem - so that's why she hasn't been prodding me much lately.)
* Fall has cometh and with it I have a healthy dog again. Woot! Her coat is beautiful, her eyes are no longer red rimmed, AND she's losing weight. What. A. Relief. I know this happens every year, so it's no surprise, but it is always a relief. The summer months must be terrible for her, and, like any good mother, I hate to see that. Luckily, we seem to have stumbled upon a drug regimen that might help stave off her symptoms next year even while keeping her in a zombie-like state. Still, zombie dog > monster dog. Keep your fingers crossed.
* With the onset of cold weather, Casey has started this new behavior that is disturbing only because it shows how smart she is. I like to keep my house cold at night and Casey sleeps in the bed with me. During the night we move apart because we both need our own space, but as soon as she hears my alarm go off in the morning, she get up, stretches, then cuddles up right next to my stomach. It's like the worst snooze button in the world. Seriously. I haven't been on time once since the cold set in.
* I know that news about vet school admission won't come until December, but I can't help but tense up each time I check the mail these days. Just reject me and get it over with already! I'm resigned to the fact that I'll have to try again. I promise. It's the waiting that I can not bear.
* Remember when I got my ears pierced? Yeah. It turns out that it takes less time to heal from a tattoo than it does for me to heal from these stinking piercings. There is one in particular that seems to be testing me in a battle of wills, and it's not the "weird" one. I got my tragus pierced, as well as three more lobe piercings. So in total, I have three piercings in each ear - two in my left lobe + the tragus, and three in my right ear. The third one in my right ear just does NOT want to heal. It's like my ear is saying, "Look, bitch - we lived just fine with one piercing in this ear for thirty-two years, and now you want three? We'll just see about that." ARGH. I think I knew I would have trouble with this coming into it given that my ears seem sensitive to anything other than 24-carat gold. But five months later?! Argh, I tell you. Argh.
* This semester of school is my first one without organic chemistry since this time last year. This is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I can actually succeed in these classes. Curse because I find myself thinking, "Study? I don't need to study. I am too smart for these classes." Yeah. After my first round of tests I went through the whole "Thank you, Lord, for teaching me humility" ritual.
* Do you know what you should never do? Look up your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend on Facebook. It doesn't matter how secure you feel about your life and relationship - nothing good can come of this.
* I did not do anything for Halloween this year save ogle my friend's children in their adorable costumes. It was a pretty relaxing holiday. I fear this is the onset of old age.
* I completed my last bike ride of the season on October 30th. The wind was just as terrible as another ride I did. Still, I got a free beer at the end of the ride to celebrate, so that took some of the sting off. And that ride brought my mileage total for the summer to 1353 - way beyond the goal I set. That was a nice achievement. Now to move on to the next one.
* Right. We had our second annual reunion for those who studied abroad in Costa Rica this past month. It was fantastic and I could blog about it forever. Seriously. These people astound me, and the fact that they are my friends is continually amazing. And so it was the perfect storm when we stumbled upon this relay race, and they all immediately wanted to put a team together. Nevermind that I dislike running. Nevermind that I haven't run a mile in over three years. I respect these folks and they threw down a challenge. "Challenge Extended" to quote Barney Stinson. I have no choice but to accept. So if you weren't ready for this blog to become a bunch of complaining about the horrors of running, prepare yourself now.
* I've never mentioned this before, but the one thing that I will always have from the boy (should this relationship end) is an outstanding collection of outerwear. Seriously. For the last few Christmases and Birthdays (beginning with the trek to Peru, come to think of it) the boy has gifted me with more coats and jackets than I thought were available for purchase. This one for cold weather above 40 degrees Fahrenheit. This one for cold weather below 40 degrees. This one for cold weather with precipitation. This one for warmer weather with precipitation. This one for riding my bike in the rain. It's ridiculous. I had to put a stop to it after the last one because, really, do I seem like a girl who would ride her bike in the rain? Still, I guess I am completely covered for any sort of weather patterns I should ever face. Ever.
* Next semester I will only have one final class to complete, and it's only two credit hours. That's the fewest credit hours I've taken since I started this endeavor in fall of 2007. Holy Cow. That's both terrifying and exciting. Exciting because, woo hoo I'm almost done! Terrifying because I've reached the end of things that I can control in my quest to be a vet. Now we just cross our fingers and wait, yes? Please think good thoughts...
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Poop and relationships
One of the things I must do on my application for vet school is to write a personal statement. This statement must be no more than 5000 characters in length and should explain the journey that I've taken in my decision to become a veterinarian, and what experiences and circumstances make me unique.
You guys, I thought I would rock this. Seriously. I mean, I write a blog. I write about myself all. the. time.
Um, you may or may not have noticed, but my style of writing is....wordy. As in, I like to use a lot of words. You know, for emphasis. I like to go over and over a point to make sure everyone understands it with the depth of passion that I do. This particular trait does not marry well with a character limit of 5000 (with spaces!)
So I just wrote my story and then edited. Or, more specifically, zlionsfan helped me edit. Then I redid some of his edits and made my statement too long again. Then I re-edited MY edits, and, well... now I have a statement that I feel is choppy and sounds like a toilet being flushed.
Still, I've emailed it to a couple of people whose opinions I trust (never fear, cousin, I'm coming after you next) and as I anxiously await their feedback (they are not early morning people) I am mildly freaking out about my personal statement, my future and of course, my life in general.
I never said melodrama didn't have a place in my life.
So, a few days ago I was having a mini-pre-writing-my-personal-statement breakdown. I had this particular breakdown in the car with the boy. After venting all of my fears and frustrations, the boy sat silently. I turned to him and said, "Now is the point in the conversation where you say pretty words to make me feel better. Sort of like zlionsfan does."
He thought for a second and said, "You shouldn't freak out."
He said no more. No matter how much I harassed him (which was plenty) no more comfort was forthcoming. He is not zlionsfan, he said. And apparently I didn't really need comfort for my theatrics. He felt no need to coddle me.
(Don't worry - this is all related.)
Last night the boy stopped by after work to check in on my personal statement. I was in the midst of erasing my fifteenth draft, and I won't lie - I wasn't in a good place. I mean, it wasn't the depths of despair that organic chemistry brought to me, but it wasn't happy-go-lucky either. The boy sat silently, read what I had written, gave me feedback and then left.
But then this morning? We had the following text exchange. (And I swear to you, I haven't altered a single word.)
E: It is written and it is crap. I may as well poop on a piece of paper and submit that instead.
B: poop WOULD be an attention grabber
E: Hmmm. Maybe I dismissed that option too quickly...
B: there you go... I mean... nothin' says "Look at MY application" like a big pile of shit.
E: Soft smeary shit, or hard little turds? Ooooh, what about corn poopies? It shows that I eat my veggies...
B: it shouldn't be your shit... it should be some kind of exotic animal shit to show how much you care about animals... the more exotic the shit, the more you care.
E: Tasmanian Devil?
B: black mamba... invokes a little fear into the panel
E: Black Mamba like Kobe Bryant, or like the snake? Honestly, I can't decide which is scarier...
And just like that, I was laughing. Not brooding and sulking, but actually laughing. And now I can re-read what I've written for the gazillionth time with an editing eye, instead of despair and hopelessness. Because maybe sometimes? I want to be coddled, but what I need is to be reminded that life is not so serious. That perhaps I may be overreacting. And that while I'm allowed some of that, I need to snap out of it and get shit done. And sometimes you get what you need instead of what you want. (Wouldn't that be a great song?)
You guys, I thought I would rock this. Seriously. I mean, I write a blog. I write about myself all. the. time.
Um, you may or may not have noticed, but my style of writing is....wordy. As in, I like to use a lot of words. You know, for emphasis. I like to go over and over a point to make sure everyone understands it with the depth of passion that I do. This particular trait does not marry well with a character limit of 5000 (with spaces!)
So I just wrote my story and then edited. Or, more specifically, zlionsfan helped me edit. Then I redid some of his edits and made my statement too long again. Then I re-edited MY edits, and, well... now I have a statement that I feel is choppy and sounds like a toilet being flushed.
Still, I've emailed it to a couple of people whose opinions I trust (never fear, cousin, I'm coming after you next) and as I anxiously await their feedback (they are not early morning people) I am mildly freaking out about my personal statement, my future and of course, my life in general.
I never said melodrama didn't have a place in my life.
So, a few days ago I was having a mini-pre-writing-my-personal-statement breakdown. I had this particular breakdown in the car with the boy. After venting all of my fears and frustrations, the boy sat silently. I turned to him and said, "Now is the point in the conversation where you say pretty words to make me feel better. Sort of like zlionsfan does."
He thought for a second and said, "You shouldn't freak out."
He said no more. No matter how much I harassed him (which was plenty) no more comfort was forthcoming. He is not zlionsfan, he said. And apparently I didn't really need comfort for my theatrics. He felt no need to coddle me.
(Don't worry - this is all related.)
Last night the boy stopped by after work to check in on my personal statement. I was in the midst of erasing my fifteenth draft, and I won't lie - I wasn't in a good place. I mean, it wasn't the depths of despair that organic chemistry brought to me, but it wasn't happy-go-lucky either. The boy sat silently, read what I had written, gave me feedback and then left.
But then this morning? We had the following text exchange. (And I swear to you, I haven't altered a single word.)
E: It is written and it is crap. I may as well poop on a piece of paper and submit that instead.
B: poop WOULD be an attention grabber
E: Hmmm. Maybe I dismissed that option too quickly...
B: there you go... I mean... nothin' says "Look at MY application" like a big pile of shit.
E: Soft smeary shit, or hard little turds? Ooooh, what about corn poopies? It shows that I eat my veggies...
B: it shouldn't be your shit... it should be some kind of exotic animal shit to show how much you care about animals... the more exotic the shit, the more you care.
E: Tasmanian Devil?
B: black mamba... invokes a little fear into the panel
E: Black Mamba like Kobe Bryant, or like the snake? Honestly, I can't decide which is scarier...
And just like that, I was laughing. Not brooding and sulking, but actually laughing. And now I can re-read what I've written for the gazillionth time with an editing eye, instead of despair and hopelessness. Because maybe sometimes? I want to be coddled, but what I need is to be reminded that life is not so serious. That perhaps I may be overreacting. And that while I'm allowed some of that, I need to snap out of it and get shit done. And sometimes you get what you need instead of what you want. (Wouldn't that be a great song?)
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Key Privileges = Revoked
I've been cooking more lately. And honestly, I don't think the cooking can be categorized as either successes or failures. Sometimes everything tastes great, but I have TONS of leftover ingredients that will be left to languish in my refrigerator until they sprout legs of their own and walk themselves to the garbage can. Sometimes all ingredients are used and something is just barely undercooked. Or overcooked. Or basically inedible. I don't think I'm meant to be a homemaker.
I am, however, an expert at ordering take-out. I know THAT'S sexy.
You know what else I have trouble with when cooking? Trips to the grocery store. I mean seriously, if I ever remember to get everything that I need in one trip it will be the type of miracle only equaled by the creation of DOTS. And yes, I make lists. Unfortunately, my lists are faulty. If I manage to get everything needed for one meal, I forget the day-to-day items that I need. If I remember the day-to-day items, I inevitably forget an (important) ingredient. Or two.
Like now? I'm out of Liquid Plumr. Seriously. How does THAT happen? I can clog a shower drain faster than you can say erm...Drano. And toilet paper. I realized I was on my last roll on Saturday. Do you think I remembered to put it on my list when I went to the grocery store on Monday? Of course not. As of last night, I'm officially out. I thought I was going to be stuck going to the store for just toilet paper. A wasted trip. I guess I should be glad I ran out of Liquid Plumr this morning. Now the trip is a bit more justifiable. Does this happen to anyone else?
The boy, who never goes to the grocery store himself unless it's to visit the frozen meals section, thinks this is hilarious. He also has no problems reminding me "gently" when I'm out of something. "Sweetie, you need paper towels," and then "Why don't you have paper towels yet? It's been like a week since I mentioned it to you." Right, and I noticed that I was out a week before that. Thanks though. Hardy har har har. Wait, remember that time you had to "borrow" dog food from me because you didn't have any? Right.
I do like the way Karma works, though. Because today? I got a phone call. My fourth phone call of the day from the boy, actually. Which is rare. So I answered, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Apparently the boy had stopped by my house between jobs today because he had to use the restroom. And it wasn't to go number one.
My first thought was "EW!" combined with a feeling of complete violation. He had stopped by my house to take a dump?! What the hell? He's got his OWN place for that. Or he could wait until he got to work. I'm pretty sure that pooping at your girlfriend's place when she's not there is unacceptable, no matter how long you've been dating. (over six years, btw. eeeeek!) If you don't live there, I'm pretty sure unsupervised visits are only acceptable if you're leaving pretty flowers or doing the dishes or something of that nature. Unsupervised stops involving fecal matter are strictly prohibited.
Fortunately, the angry tirade was thwarted by my second thought which was, "I'm out of toilet paper."
So I didn't get to say anything in response. I was laughing too hard.
I think the lesson we all need to take away from this is that you should poop in your own home. Or at least in the home of someone more responsible.
When I was done laughing, I called the boy back. I told him that this would be a blog because, seriously, it's too funny not to be. He resignedly agreed. And by "resignedly" I mean I refused to bring him a roll of toilet paper until I got my way.
I can't make this stuff up, folks.
I am, however, an expert at ordering take-out. I know THAT'S sexy.
You know what else I have trouble with when cooking? Trips to the grocery store. I mean seriously, if I ever remember to get everything that I need in one trip it will be the type of miracle only equaled by the creation of DOTS. And yes, I make lists. Unfortunately, my lists are faulty. If I manage to get everything needed for one meal, I forget the day-to-day items that I need. If I remember the day-to-day items, I inevitably forget an (important) ingredient. Or two.
Like now? I'm out of Liquid Plumr. Seriously. How does THAT happen? I can clog a shower drain faster than you can say erm...Drano. And toilet paper. I realized I was on my last roll on Saturday. Do you think I remembered to put it on my list when I went to the grocery store on Monday? Of course not. As of last night, I'm officially out. I thought I was going to be stuck going to the store for just toilet paper. A wasted trip. I guess I should be glad I ran out of Liquid Plumr this morning. Now the trip is a bit more justifiable. Does this happen to anyone else?
The boy, who never goes to the grocery store himself unless it's to visit the frozen meals section, thinks this is hilarious. He also has no problems reminding me "gently" when I'm out of something. "Sweetie, you need paper towels," and then "Why don't you have paper towels yet? It's been like a week since I mentioned it to you." Right, and I noticed that I was out a week before that. Thanks though. Hardy har har har. Wait, remember that time you had to "borrow" dog food from me because you didn't have any? Right.
I do like the way Karma works, though. Because today? I got a phone call. My fourth phone call of the day from the boy, actually. Which is rare. So I answered, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Apparently the boy had stopped by my house between jobs today because he had to use the restroom. And it wasn't to go number one.
My first thought was "EW!" combined with a feeling of complete violation. He had stopped by my house to take a dump?! What the hell? He's got his OWN place for that. Or he could wait until he got to work. I'm pretty sure that pooping at your girlfriend's place when she's not there is unacceptable, no matter how long you've been dating. (over six years, btw. eeeeek!) If you don't live there, I'm pretty sure unsupervised visits are only acceptable if you're leaving pretty flowers or doing the dishes or something of that nature. Unsupervised stops involving fecal matter are strictly prohibited.
Fortunately, the angry tirade was thwarted by my second thought which was, "I'm out of toilet paper."
So I didn't get to say anything in response. I was laughing too hard.
I think the lesson we all need to take away from this is that you should poop in your own home. Or at least in the home of someone more responsible.
When I was done laughing, I called the boy back. I told him that this would be a blog because, seriously, it's too funny not to be. He resignedly agreed. And by "resignedly" I mean I refused to bring him a roll of toilet paper until I got my way.
I can't make this stuff up, folks.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Worst. Superhero. Ever.
This morning the boy and I stepped outside early, earlier than I usually set foot in the great outdoors, in order to try and capture the illustrations necessary for an upcoming blog. Alas, we failed. As we turned to re-enter the house, I pulled open the screen door and saw a monster run along the INSIDE of my door.
The closest that I can come to describing it was that it was approximately the size of my head, it had about 75 thousand legs, and it wanted to jump on my ear to suck my brain out. Given that description, the only option that I had was to shriek.
"Oh My God! There's a thing! On the fence! Ew ew ew ew ew!!! And now it's in my house! It ran along the fence and now it's in my house! Killitkillitkillit!!!!"
Note: all of this was said while releasing the door, backing AWAY from the door quickly, and gesturing to it frantically.
The boy LEAPED into superhero mode. "What?"
It was here that my panic took over. "ON THE FENCE! It was huge! And now it's in my house! I can't go back in there!! It was HUGE! OMGOMGOMGOMG!"
"On the fence?" The boy whirled around to look at the fence behind us. "Then how can it be in your house now?"
"ON THE FENCE....ER, screen. I meant screen. It ran along the inside of the screen and now it's in my house." (It was here that my brain kicked back in.)
"WHERE IS IT AND WHAT IS IT?!"
"Why are you yelling at me?"
"BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING NO SENSE! YOU SAID FENCE, SO I'M LOOKING AT THE FENCE, BUT THEN YOU SAID IT WAS IN THE HOUSE!"
"I opened the door and a huge bug ran along the inside of the screen towards the cat. It is now in my house. It was huge."
The boy took a deep breath. "Point to where the bug went."
I timidly stretched out a finger to indicate the inside corner of the screen near the hinges.
"Okay. Good. Let me go take a look."
The boy disappeared in my house, and I walked with the dog for a bit. I heard the muffled sounds thumping, a "JESUS!" and then an aerosol can being sprayed. Finally I heard, "All clear now."
As I re-entered the house I said, "You know, I don't remember the part in the story where the superhero yells at the damsel in distress."
"Well, if the damsel doesn't TELL the superhero where the bad guys went, he can't help her, can he?"
"I still don't think he ever yelled at her. She's panicking. In fact, he should be grateful that she's any help at all. Most damsels are swooning by the time the superhero gets there."
"What is this, a superhero in 1920?"
"If it were, I'll bet he wouldn't yell at the damsel."
"And I'll bet the damsel was able to tell him where the bad guys are."
"Whatever. Panic. It's something that superheros learn to deal with correctly at their superhero workshops."
"Superhero workshops?"
"Yes. Which is how they avoid becoming the worst superhero ever."
"Is that me?"
"Well, it's not me! I'm the swooning damsel."
"That certainly was a lot of shrieking for a swoon."
"Shut it."
The closest that I can come to describing it was that it was approximately the size of my head, it had about 75 thousand legs, and it wanted to jump on my ear to suck my brain out. Given that description, the only option that I had was to shriek.
"Oh My God! There's a thing! On the fence! Ew ew ew ew ew!!! And now it's in my house! It ran along the fence and now it's in my house! Killitkillitkillit!!!!"
Note: all of this was said while releasing the door, backing AWAY from the door quickly, and gesturing to it frantically.
The boy LEAPED into superhero mode. "What?"
It was here that my panic took over. "ON THE FENCE! It was huge! And now it's in my house! I can't go back in there!! It was HUGE! OMGOMGOMGOMG!"
"On the fence?" The boy whirled around to look at the fence behind us. "Then how can it be in your house now?"
"ON THE FENCE....ER, screen. I meant screen. It ran along the inside of the screen and now it's in my house." (It was here that my brain kicked back in.)
"WHERE IS IT AND WHAT IS IT?!"
"Why are you yelling at me?"
"BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING NO SENSE! YOU SAID FENCE, SO I'M LOOKING AT THE FENCE, BUT THEN YOU SAID IT WAS IN THE HOUSE!"
"I opened the door and a huge bug ran along the inside of the screen towards the cat. It is now in my house. It was huge."
The boy took a deep breath. "Point to where the bug went."
I timidly stretched out a finger to indicate the inside corner of the screen near the hinges.
"Okay. Good. Let me go take a look."
The boy disappeared in my house, and I walked with the dog for a bit. I heard the muffled sounds thumping, a "JESUS!" and then an aerosol can being sprayed. Finally I heard, "All clear now."
As I re-entered the house I said, "You know, I don't remember the part in the story where the superhero yells at the damsel in distress."
"Well, if the damsel doesn't TELL the superhero where the bad guys went, he can't help her, can he?"
"I still don't think he ever yelled at her. She's panicking. In fact, he should be grateful that she's any help at all. Most damsels are swooning by the time the superhero gets there."
"What is this, a superhero in 1920?"
"If it were, I'll bet he wouldn't yell at the damsel."
"And I'll bet the damsel was able to tell him where the bad guys are."
"Whatever. Panic. It's something that superheros learn to deal with correctly at their superhero workshops."
"Superhero workshops?"
"Yes. Which is how they avoid becoming the worst superhero ever."
"Is that me?"
"Well, it's not me! I'm the swooning damsel."
"That certainly was a lot of shrieking for a swoon."
"Shut it."
Thursday, June 03, 2010
The Pants Problem
Men don't know how easy they have it. Really they don't. One day, early in the relationship, I had to pick up some pants for the boy. He gave me two numbers to look for, and that was that. "How do you know they're gonna fit?" Apparently they just always do. If you're a boy, and you know your two magic numbers, the pants will always fit.
This is so far opposite from my life that I literally couldn't comprehend it. They always fit? Any pants, anywhere, with these two numbers?
The boy laughed at me. But seriously!
I hate shopping for pants. It is the bane of my existence. It's even worse than swimsuit shopping. No lie, ladies. I mean, I'm sure it would be easier if I were, um, a little more on the slender side. And perhaps a little on the taller side. But as it is, I'm a little bottom heavy, with most of my excess weight centered on my ass and thighs. This basically means that even though women only have one number to remember, that number does not necessarily mean that the pants will fit me. In fact, nine times out of ten my size won't fit me, neither will the next size up, or the next size down. All I get out of shopping for pants is a big fat load of frustration.
You wouldn't like me when I'm frustrated. Or maybe you would. I'm funny. Unless I'm frustrated with you, of course. Then I'm frightening.
Anyway. The deal is that my ass/thigh combo seems to require a size that is too large for my waist. Which results in pants that fit semi-comfortably but have HUGE amounts of excess fabric at the waist. (Yes, they can be altered, and yes, this is what I generally tend to do. Find pants that fit mostly okay and pay an additional $20 to have them fit correctly.)
Oh and "low rise?" That was made for people with no junk in their trunk. Or maybe with just a smaller trunk. But apparently everyone on earth has a smaller trunk because low rise seems to be all that's being sold these days. (And don't get me STARTED on skinny jeans. Women are supposed to have curves.) I mean, unless I want to buy grandmother jeans that sit up on my natural waist, which I have done on occasion out of desperation, it seems I have no options. (no offense to any grandmothers reading. Your jeans fit you beautifully.)
But I will never, ever, EVER, buy pants with pleats. (ARE YOU READING THIS MOTHER?) I don't care if "pleated pants fit our figure better" or "they look so flattering" (LIE!) There has GOT to be a better solution than pleats. End of story.
So when I ruined my last pair of khakis by washing them with a pink t-shirt (for the second time) I was in a pickle. Wear ruined khakis? Wear dresses to work every day? Can I plead "wardrobe malfunction" and just wear pajama bottoms to work?
I decided that online shopping would be less painful than actual fitting rooms that are A) in public B) not in my house and not with my mirror and C) not with my clothes so that I can try different tops to see if the pants are actually acceptable. I reasoned that sending pants back was easier than leaving the mall in tears.
And so my search began. I googled every combination of "petite" "Khaki" "wide-leg" "flare" and "pants" that you can think of. Until I remembered this catalog I had received in the mail last winter. The catalog that I had perused and loved and then immediately pitched because the prices were not prices that could be accepted on a full-time-working-student budget. The catalog from Athleta.
Cue glorious background music.
I love their stuff. So I visited online. And found pants that I loved. Pants that I loved that cost more than I was willing to spend on pants. Pants that, I reasoned, there was no drawback in ordering because they probably wouldn't fit anyway and then at least I would KNOW. Specifically, these pants. Seriously? What's the harm? Pants never ever fit me.
OMG, they fit like they were MADE FOR ME. No kidding. It's like the worst practical joke ever. They fit 100 percent. No complaints. Not one. Well, except for the price. Did you see the price? Did you see that I could probably eat lunch for sixteen days at that price?
So, see, my normal behavior would be to buy a pair in every color because, pshaw, they FIT and that never happens. But, um.....expensive.
So basically there's this war going on. They fit! They're expensive! They fit! They're expensive! It's quite the conundrum. And basically, I should have seen it coming. Because, at this point in my life, I've probably tried on all the cheap pants in the world - of course expensive pants are the only option left. The person who hates shopping must now spend more money than she is willing to buy name brand. Oh the irony. Woe is me. Woe woe woe.
And I would feel worse, but they're so pretty. Have I mentioned that? So pretty, in fact, that I would sell myself on the street to get the money to pay for them. They look so good on me that I would actually wear them to sell myself on the street... but you just don't see many prostitutes in khakis these days. I'm not sure why. Maybe I need to work that angle.
My cousin mentioned that I should buy a pair in brown and a pair in black so that I'm completely covered. I was TOTALLY going to follow her advise until I realized that navy blue is on sale.
What the hell shoes do I wear with navy blue pants?
(Navy blue pants that will look FANTASTIC on me, btw.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see exactly how long I'll have to go without eating once I order more pants. (Pants that FIT!!!)
(Author's note - this is my 300th post and it's about clothing. Worse, it's about shopping. A topic that I abhor. But if I wait for a more auspicious topic to come along, you would miss all the mundane trivialities of my life which is what you really tune in for, right? So just have a glass of wine tonight in celebration of my 300th post and pretend that it was about something important and life-altering.)
This is so far opposite from my life that I literally couldn't comprehend it. They always fit? Any pants, anywhere, with these two numbers?
The boy laughed at me. But seriously!
I hate shopping for pants. It is the bane of my existence. It's even worse than swimsuit shopping. No lie, ladies. I mean, I'm sure it would be easier if I were, um, a little more on the slender side. And perhaps a little on the taller side. But as it is, I'm a little bottom heavy, with most of my excess weight centered on my ass and thighs. This basically means that even though women only have one number to remember, that number does not necessarily mean that the pants will fit me. In fact, nine times out of ten my size won't fit me, neither will the next size up, or the next size down. All I get out of shopping for pants is a big fat load of frustration.
You wouldn't like me when I'm frustrated. Or maybe you would. I'm funny. Unless I'm frustrated with you, of course. Then I'm frightening.
Anyway. The deal is that my ass/thigh combo seems to require a size that is too large for my waist. Which results in pants that fit semi-comfortably but have HUGE amounts of excess fabric at the waist. (Yes, they can be altered, and yes, this is what I generally tend to do. Find pants that fit mostly okay and pay an additional $20 to have them fit correctly.)
Oh and "low rise?" That was made for people with no junk in their trunk. Or maybe with just a smaller trunk. But apparently everyone on earth has a smaller trunk because low rise seems to be all that's being sold these days. (And don't get me STARTED on skinny jeans. Women are supposed to have curves.) I mean, unless I want to buy grandmother jeans that sit up on my natural waist, which I have done on occasion out of desperation, it seems I have no options. (no offense to any grandmothers reading. Your jeans fit you beautifully.)
But I will never, ever, EVER, buy pants with pleats. (ARE YOU READING THIS MOTHER?) I don't care if "pleated pants fit our figure better" or "they look so flattering" (LIE!) There has GOT to be a better solution than pleats. End of story.
So when I ruined my last pair of khakis by washing them with a pink t-shirt (for the second time) I was in a pickle. Wear ruined khakis? Wear dresses to work every day? Can I plead "wardrobe malfunction" and just wear pajama bottoms to work?
I decided that online shopping would be less painful than actual fitting rooms that are A) in public B) not in my house and not with my mirror and C) not with my clothes so that I can try different tops to see if the pants are actually acceptable. I reasoned that sending pants back was easier than leaving the mall in tears.
And so my search began. I googled every combination of "petite" "Khaki" "wide-leg" "flare" and "pants" that you can think of. Until I remembered this catalog I had received in the mail last winter. The catalog that I had perused and loved and then immediately pitched because the prices were not prices that could be accepted on a full-time-working-student budget. The catalog from Athleta.
Cue glorious background music.
I love their stuff. So I visited online. And found pants that I loved. Pants that I loved that cost more than I was willing to spend on pants. Pants that, I reasoned, there was no drawback in ordering because they probably wouldn't fit anyway and then at least I would KNOW. Specifically, these pants. Seriously? What's the harm? Pants never ever fit me.
OMG, they fit like they were MADE FOR ME. No kidding. It's like the worst practical joke ever. They fit 100 percent. No complaints. Not one. Well, except for the price. Did you see the price? Did you see that I could probably eat lunch for sixteen days at that price?
So, see, my normal behavior would be to buy a pair in every color because, pshaw, they FIT and that never happens. But, um.....expensive.
So basically there's this war going on. They fit! They're expensive! They fit! They're expensive! It's quite the conundrum. And basically, I should have seen it coming. Because, at this point in my life, I've probably tried on all the cheap pants in the world - of course expensive pants are the only option left. The person who hates shopping must now spend more money than she is willing to buy name brand. Oh the irony. Woe is me. Woe woe woe.
And I would feel worse, but they're so pretty. Have I mentioned that? So pretty, in fact, that I would sell myself on the street to get the money to pay for them. They look so good on me that I would actually wear them to sell myself on the street... but you just don't see many prostitutes in khakis these days. I'm not sure why. Maybe I need to work that angle.
My cousin mentioned that I should buy a pair in brown and a pair in black so that I'm completely covered. I was TOTALLY going to follow her advise until I realized that navy blue is on sale.
What the hell shoes do I wear with navy blue pants?
(Navy blue pants that will look FANTASTIC on me, btw.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see exactly how long I'll have to go without eating once I order more pants. (Pants that FIT!!!)
(Author's note - this is my 300th post and it's about clothing. Worse, it's about shopping. A topic that I abhor. But if I wait for a more auspicious topic to come along, you would miss all the mundane trivialities of my life which is what you really tune in for, right? So just have a glass of wine tonight in celebration of my 300th post and pretend that it was about something important and life-altering.)
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
A pinch of this, a sprinkle of that...
Biking update - I've been riding to work as much as possible - despite the geese and stupid drivers turning right (look both ways people!!) In the beginning, I was averaging a 20 minute ride, with longer rides in the mornings, because...duh. Now I'm passing boys on the towpath and making it home in 18:43. Gotta love that. Obviously, when I wake up to a monsoon at 6:30am (like today) I go right back to sleep for 45 minutes with zero regrets. This is the fourth week since making the decision to ride 1000 miles, and I'm currently sitting at 417 miles from the starting 228. I only need 11 more miles to keep on track for my 50 miles per week. I think I can get that done, if not riding to work, then this weekend when we have a 24 mile bike ride scheduled.
Casualties from the bike riding? My shoulders which are both currently peeling due to my inability to remember that people with darker skin tones need sunblock too. My wallet from the riding gloves that were recently purchased (and make me look bad ASS even if I do say so myself.) And my water bill as I have to do more laundry to keep up with all the clothes I'm wearing.
I still think I'm coming out ahead.
Casey has been taking fish oil pills since I learned that monster dog is unbearable. So far, her fur is noticeably softer, and she doesn't have the visible bumpy hives on her back and legs. But she still does have splotches on her stomach caused by allergies, and her eyes are still red-rimmed. Overall, I think things are improving, and I'm willing to keep it up for another month to see if things get even better. However, since she can't NOT be sick, she decided to get a bladder infection and scare the bejeezus out of me all other tests came back normal and I thought she had bladder stones that would require surgery. Luckily that is not the case, and the antibiotics that I have to force down her throat twice a day seem to be taking care of all issues just fine. (FYI - forcing open a stubborn pit bull's jaws to force down antibiotics? Not fun. Giving said pit bull Doritos until she is lulled into a false sense of security and then slipping the antibiotic in the Doritos? Much more fun, but results in a Dorito/antibiotic mix of crumbs all over the floor as soon as she tastes the medicine. She's not dumb, that's for sure.)
Body Art update? Piercings - Multiple. The boy is relieved. I am ridiculously thrilled with them, but wish they would hurry up and heal already. FYI - things that are not normally pierced are not normally pierced for a reason. And that reason is because they hurt like a mother... Be ye not so stupid.
Don't worry - they are all visible and not at all kinky. Ew.
I have not yet given up on the tattoo, but have an entirely new idea for one. So I must now mull over it for a while to see if it sticks.
GRE studying begins this month. I have decided that Monday and Thursday evenings, and Sunday afternoons are for studying. (Unless it rains on Tuesdays and then it's Mondays and Tuesdays. I can't miss out on the weekly bike rides :-) I'm starting off slow and just going through practice tests, and I'm amazed at how much I remember. I mean, I've forgotten a lot, but my bruised intelligence ego is getting a lift from these practice exams after getting beaten to within an inch of its life by ochem. Maybe my brain DOES still work. Stay tuned.
The USA World Cup opener is June 12th. I will be visiting my parents in the land of cable, so I'm sure I will get to watch it. Yay! You should too - it's a no brainer. If you bring it up in casual conversation you seem all worldly and smart. (Um, and there are hot soccer players. Yum.) Besides, there should be a rule in your life that something that only happens once every four years is special and important and worthy of your free time. U-S-A!! U-S-A!!
Casualties from the bike riding? My shoulders which are both currently peeling due to my inability to remember that people with darker skin tones need sunblock too. My wallet from the riding gloves that were recently purchased (and make me look bad ASS even if I do say so myself.) And my water bill as I have to do more laundry to keep up with all the clothes I'm wearing.
I still think I'm coming out ahead.
Casey has been taking fish oil pills since I learned that monster dog is unbearable. So far, her fur is noticeably softer, and she doesn't have the visible bumpy hives on her back and legs. But she still does have splotches on her stomach caused by allergies, and her eyes are still red-rimmed. Overall, I think things are improving, and I'm willing to keep it up for another month to see if things get even better. However, since she can't NOT be sick, she decided to get a bladder infection and scare the bejeezus out of me all other tests came back normal and I thought she had bladder stones that would require surgery. Luckily that is not the case, and the antibiotics that I have to force down her throat twice a day seem to be taking care of all issues just fine. (FYI - forcing open a stubborn pit bull's jaws to force down antibiotics? Not fun. Giving said pit bull Doritos until she is lulled into a false sense of security and then slipping the antibiotic in the Doritos? Much more fun, but results in a Dorito/antibiotic mix of crumbs all over the floor as soon as she tastes the medicine. She's not dumb, that's for sure.)
Body Art update? Piercings - Multiple. The boy is relieved. I am ridiculously thrilled with them, but wish they would hurry up and heal already. FYI - things that are not normally pierced are not normally pierced for a reason. And that reason is because they hurt like a mother... Be ye not so stupid.
Don't worry - they are all visible and not at all kinky. Ew.
I have not yet given up on the tattoo, but have an entirely new idea for one. So I must now mull over it for a while to see if it sticks.
GRE studying begins this month. I have decided that Monday and Thursday evenings, and Sunday afternoons are for studying. (Unless it rains on Tuesdays and then it's Mondays and Tuesdays. I can't miss out on the weekly bike rides :-) I'm starting off slow and just going through practice tests, and I'm amazed at how much I remember. I mean, I've forgotten a lot, but my bruised intelligence ego is getting a lift from these practice exams after getting beaten to within an inch of its life by ochem. Maybe my brain DOES still work. Stay tuned.
The USA World Cup opener is June 12th. I will be visiting my parents in the land of cable, so I'm sure I will get to watch it. Yay! You should too - it's a no brainer. If you bring it up in casual conversation you seem all worldly and smart. (Um, and there are hot soccer players. Yum.) Besides, there should be a rule in your life that something that only happens once every four years is special and important and worthy of your free time. U-S-A!! U-S-A!!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Body Art
Let me preface this by saying that I am already tattooed. However, being raised by a conservative father and having a bit (a tiny tiny bit) of foresight (since I had no idea what career I wanted,) both tattoos are generally only seen by others if I want them to be.
Getting tattoos is addictive. No doubt. Each time I got one, I wanted another immediately. Unlike the most common argument I have heard against tattoos (I can't decide what I would want on my body forever) I consider my tattoos fond memories of the times that I got them. (Even the cliched rose on my hip that I got when I was eighteen. Sigh. Kids, there's a reason you have to be 18 to get a tattoo...and even then, perhaps you should wait. A rose? On my hip? Really?)
So for the past few years, I've wanted another tattoo. The location is what is holding me back. Because even though I'm decisive and generally don't let the opinions of others hold me back, I tend to poll my loved ones about decisions such as this, and the opinions of said loved ones definitely hold some weight. The more loved you are, the more weight your opinion holds.
Here are the limitations: The tattoo must be somewhere that is not obvious. That can be covered if need be. And I would like to be able to wear a formal dress on occasion without any tattoos showing. Which is why I've waited over four years for this tattoo. Because locations are limited. Shoulder? Too many backless formal dresses. Ankle? I wear flip flops and sandals all the time. Inside wrist? I'm not opposed to this. But front of shoulders and arms are out of the question - I wear way too many tank-top items.
So what I want is to get it on the back of my neck. And, this is the one location that the boy is vehemently opposed to.
He says: white trash. I say: sexy.
Maybe it's trashy-sexy?
He says: unprofessional. I agree. But you can't see it if I wear my hair down.
He says: What if you get your hair cut short. I say: I will never do so again, because I've SEEN pictures of my hair cut short and each time I wonder "WHAT WAS I THINKING?!" I have made a vow to go no shorter than shoulder length for the rest of my natural life.
He says: What if you go to a formal event and want to wear your hair in an updo? I say: Good point. Damn. I hate tattoos that show when formal dresses are worn. (And, if I were the sort of girly girl who would take into consideration one very important formal event that she has yet to go through, she might wonder about what would and would not show on this day - depending entirely on the dress. But on the flip side, she is comfortable thinking that she may never go through that event. Should she take into consideration something that may never happen?)
But, I keep thinking about it. And it's been years. This is generally the measuring stick that I use to determine whether or not I can live without something. Does it stay on my mind even when I'm removed from it? Yes. Yes it does. Well then I must have it.
It wouldn't be anything big - the symbol that I have in mind would be small and unobtrusive. There probably wouldn't be any color involved.
So....opinions? Thoughts? Comments? I welcome all points of view. Because, see, I woke up this morning with an uncontrollable urge to get something tattooed or pierced, and the boy would desperately like someone to talk me into the piercing vs the tattoo...
Getting tattoos is addictive. No doubt. Each time I got one, I wanted another immediately. Unlike the most common argument I have heard against tattoos (I can't decide what I would want on my body forever) I consider my tattoos fond memories of the times that I got them. (Even the cliched rose on my hip that I got when I was eighteen. Sigh. Kids, there's a reason you have to be 18 to get a tattoo...and even then, perhaps you should wait. A rose? On my hip? Really?)
So for the past few years, I've wanted another tattoo. The location is what is holding me back. Because even though I'm decisive and generally don't let the opinions of others hold me back, I tend to poll my loved ones about decisions such as this, and the opinions of said loved ones definitely hold some weight. The more loved you are, the more weight your opinion holds.
Here are the limitations: The tattoo must be somewhere that is not obvious. That can be covered if need be. And I would like to be able to wear a formal dress on occasion without any tattoos showing. Which is why I've waited over four years for this tattoo. Because locations are limited. Shoulder? Too many backless formal dresses. Ankle? I wear flip flops and sandals all the time. Inside wrist? I'm not opposed to this. But front of shoulders and arms are out of the question - I wear way too many tank-top items.
So what I want is to get it on the back of my neck. And, this is the one location that the boy is vehemently opposed to.
He says: white trash. I say: sexy.
Maybe it's trashy-sexy?
He says: unprofessional. I agree. But you can't see it if I wear my hair down.
He says: What if you get your hair cut short. I say: I will never do so again, because I've SEEN pictures of my hair cut short and each time I wonder "WHAT WAS I THINKING?!" I have made a vow to go no shorter than shoulder length for the rest of my natural life.
He says: What if you go to a formal event and want to wear your hair in an updo? I say: Good point. Damn. I hate tattoos that show when formal dresses are worn. (And, if I were the sort of girly girl who would take into consideration one very important formal event that she has yet to go through, she might wonder about what would and would not show on this day - depending entirely on the dress. But on the flip side, she is comfortable thinking that she may never go through that event. Should she take into consideration something that may never happen?)
But, I keep thinking about it. And it's been years. This is generally the measuring stick that I use to determine whether or not I can live without something. Does it stay on my mind even when I'm removed from it? Yes. Yes it does. Well then I must have it.
It wouldn't be anything big - the symbol that I have in mind would be small and unobtrusive. There probably wouldn't be any color involved.
So....opinions? Thoughts? Comments? I welcome all points of view. Because, see, I woke up this morning with an uncontrollable urge to get something tattooed or pierced, and the boy would desperately like someone to talk me into the piercing vs the tattoo...
Monday, May 24, 2010
The way to a man's heart...
(via text exchange)
I'm trying out a new recipe tonight. You want in on this?
What recipe?
Asparagus soup. Look out Rachel Ray!
and...
Um, bread?
Uh...no meat?
Um, I have leftover chicken?
Oh oh!! Wait! Or bacon! I have BACON!!!
I'll be there at 7:30.
Done. You know you're responsible for making the bacon, right?
Figured.
I'm trying out a new recipe tonight. You want in on this?
What recipe?
Asparagus soup. Look out Rachel Ray!
and...
Um, bread?
Uh...no meat?
Um, I have leftover chicken?
Oh oh!! Wait! Or bacon! I have BACON!!!
I'll be there at 7:30.
Done. You know you're responsible for making the bacon, right?
Figured.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Bunny!!!
Fact - Last Thursday, April 22nd, was my last organic chem lab ever. Well, until I get into vet school (note the confidence.)
Fact - Tomorrow night is my first of three finals
Fact - I haven't yet turned to Taco Bell and regular Coke.
Hypothesis - I'm handling things pretty well so far.
Fact - I've gotten word that the final tomorrow is much more difficult than anyone anticipated
Fact - That news almost made me want to get a regular Coke. Unfortunately, zlionsfan has banned me from ever imbibing caffeine and sugar at the same time. However, he didn't outlaw JUST caffeine. Diet Mt. Dew FTW!!!
Fact - I've pretty much decided to live at the home of my chemistry genius friend until our final next Wednesday, May 5th.
Fact - My test scores have increased by 20 percentage points since studying with my chemistry genius friend.
Fact - My chemistry genius friend is the friend who lives with a bunny.
Hypothesis - This makes studying much more enticing.
Fact - last night when I got out of class early, I called the boy and invited him to dinner. He turned me down cold. Instead, I went to
study with my genius chemistry friend. Have I mentioned that she's the one with the bunny? Anyhow, when she said I could come over, I asked if she was hungry and offered to bring dinner. She said that they were already making dinner and did I want to join them? They were having steak. Did I like steak?
Fact - while consuming steak and studying, I also managed to get head-butted by an "aggressive bunny."
Fact - I didn't cause it. A cat did. I was just an outlet for outrage.
Fact - it was the most adorable intimidating gesture I've ever seen.
Hypothesis - I'm in love with the bunny. I'm pretty sure you would be too, if you met him. Luckily, I took a picture so that you can judge for yourself. Go ahead and feel free to let me know if my hypothesis is correct.
Fact - I will spend the rest of the evening studying. Feel free to pray for me.
Fact - Tomorrow night is my first of three finals
Fact - I haven't yet turned to Taco Bell and regular Coke.
Hypothesis - I'm handling things pretty well so far.
Fact - I've gotten word that the final tomorrow is much more difficult than anyone anticipated
Fact - That news almost made me want to get a regular Coke. Unfortunately, zlionsfan has banned me from ever imbibing caffeine and sugar at the same time. However, he didn't outlaw JUST caffeine. Diet Mt. Dew FTW!!!
Fact - I've pretty much decided to live at the home of my chemistry genius friend until our final next Wednesday, May 5th.
Fact - My test scores have increased by 20 percentage points since studying with my chemistry genius friend.
Fact - My chemistry genius friend is the friend who lives with a bunny.
Hypothesis - This makes studying much more enticing.
Fact - last night when I got out of class early, I called the boy and invited him to dinner. He turned me down cold. Instead, I went to
study with my genius chemistry friend. Have I mentioned that she's the one with the bunny? Anyhow, when she said I could come over, I asked if she was hungry and offered to bring dinner. She said that they were already making dinner and did I want to join them? They were having steak. Did I like steak?Fact - while consuming steak and studying, I also managed to get head-butted by an "aggressive bunny."
Fact - I didn't cause it. A cat did. I was just an outlet for outrage.
Fact - it was the most adorable intimidating gesture I've ever seen.
Hypothesis - I'm in love with the bunny. I'm pretty sure you would be too, if you met him. Luckily, I took a picture so that you can judge for yourself. Go ahead and feel free to let me know if my hypothesis is correct.
Fact - I will spend the rest of the evening studying. Feel free to pray for me.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Unique New York*
My alma mater won last night. Maybe you heard. If not, feast your eyes on highlights:
And it's sort of a big deal that they won. Sort of a "they've never made it to this level of tournament play before" big deal. But I know that a lot of my friends don't really follow basketball and, you know...to each their own. Whatever. But I do. Specifically, I care about the NCAA tournament, and to be even more specific, I care about Butler in the NCAA tournament. So I was pretty excited about this win.
I didn't get to see one minute of the game, thanks to ochem.
What occurred instead was one of the most unique situations that I've ever been in.
Thinking ahead, I set up z and the boy to send me text updates as the game progressed. I knew I would have zero access to internet or to a TV during my lab, so I thought the text messages would be the best option to keep up on the game. What ensued was hilarious.
The first part of my lab was a lecture. In the basement of the science building. Where cell reception is spotty anyway. And where my lab TA has been known to confiscate cell phones that make noise. (true story.) So I set my phone to silent and took the desk closest to the door of the classroom. I put the phone on my desk and kept surreptitiously checking when a new text would come in. I would carefully type responses so as not to draw too much attention as the lecture progressed. Keep in mind that this was happening in a class of 13 people. THIRTEEN. Looking back, I'm pretty certain the lecturer knew that I was up to something.
As fate would have it, the lecture broke right as we hit halftime, and I got my final update: "35-25 at halftime. Fewest points in 1st half, biggest deficit at halftime for Syracuse." I almost danced up the stairs to the lab where we would begin our experiment, and started plotting ways to keep my phone in my back pocket, but still be able to check messages regularly.
On our way to the lab, I heard the lecturer (who was also leading this lab) ask someone else if they knew the Butler score. I almost tripped up the stairs, when I whirled around to blurt "35-25." He responded, "Syracuse?" to which I answered, "Nope. Butler. Can you believe it?"
What followed was a three minute conversation about Butler's chances, how the first half had gone, and how we couldn't believe they were up 10.
After that conversation, I went ahead and took the liberty of placing my cell phone in the same hood where my partner and I were conducting our experiment. Since the lab leader kept coming by to get the updates that I was getting, I figured I had a bit of license to be somewhat distracted.
Because both z and the boy were sending updates, I was getting different perspectives. When Syracuse pulled ahead, z was careful to never tell me the score...only who had possession and what foul had just been committed. The boy's updates were more irregular and more shorthanded (almost to the point where they could not be understood) but since he was giving me the score as Syracuse first caught up to, and then passed Butler, I could understand his stress.
Then suddenly, for a good five to ten minutes, both boys stopped sending updates. This coincided with a point in my experiment where I was washing my product with reagent and letting it sit for five minutes at a time - three washes. Three intervals of five minutes to obsessively check my phone for updates when, during the last two washes, none were forthcoming. I was fah-reaking out. We've already discussed how I can not handle suspense. And I had nothing. No way to check anything that was going on.
And then there was an explosion.
It seemed that everyone I knew was sending me a message. From "down by 4...they can't buy a basket... 4 min left," to "Woah, your boys r gonna win crazy!" to "holy shit!" to "62-56," "63-56. Syracuse ball," "63-58. 23.6. Foul on Syracuse," "Missed. Foul on Butler. In bounds to Syracuse," "12.7. Shooting foul on Butler. Almost made the shot too," "63-59," "Missed the second! Foul on Syracuse. Two shots. 9.9," "Missed the first," and finally "BUTLER WINS!"
These came in one after another after another. At one point I had 13 messages that I just could not keep up with even though I was reading them as they came in. Usually the first update would come from z (most of the messages above) and would be shortly followed by some variation of the same information from the boy. And then? Then came the Facebook updates after the win where EVERYONE freaked out.
It was unreal.
I know the game was stressful. I've seen the highlights and sorted through the text messages. Watching it would have been awesome. But this was a completely unique experience that was not the completely miserable situation I anticipated. My experience was tension from not knowing. Was jumping up and down while impatiently awaiting the next update and still managing to focus enough to time my reagent washes. My experience was excited chatter with others who didn't really have a stake in the game, but were catching on to my nervous excitement. It was sorting through a plethora of information that came all at once after a long period of knowing nothing at all. And finally it was jubilation that my team had just earned a huge win.
I was supposed to go home and go to sleep after that? No way. I live about five blocks from campus (if that) and if you stepped out on my porch in the rain, you could hear the noise from the students. I couldn't sleep. I watched highlights, I read Facebook posts, and I reveled in the excitement.
And I know that sports don't really matter. I know that I could be posting about any of several other more serious topics in the news lately. But when your team is the David that just beat Goliath? When the underdog gets a chance to say "Nah nah na nah naaaaaah?" It's a unique type of celebratory feeling. One that you want to revel in. To roll around in like a dog in an interesting smell. So that's my PSA for today. Get into sports. It's cheaper than drugs, and the highs are just as high. (just don't ask z about the lows.)
Now cross your fingers for Butler's next game at 4:30pm on Saturday, and if you have a time machine so that I can get study time in (for two tests!!) in ADDITION to watching that game? It would be appreciated.
*bonus points if you can tell me which movie the title came from.
And it's sort of a big deal that they won. Sort of a "they've never made it to this level of tournament play before" big deal. But I know that a lot of my friends don't really follow basketball and, you know...to each their own. Whatever. But I do. Specifically, I care about the NCAA tournament, and to be even more specific, I care about Butler in the NCAA tournament. So I was pretty excited about this win.
I didn't get to see one minute of the game, thanks to ochem.
What occurred instead was one of the most unique situations that I've ever been in.
Thinking ahead, I set up z and the boy to send me text updates as the game progressed. I knew I would have zero access to internet or to a TV during my lab, so I thought the text messages would be the best option to keep up on the game. What ensued was hilarious.
The first part of my lab was a lecture. In the basement of the science building. Where cell reception is spotty anyway. And where my lab TA has been known to confiscate cell phones that make noise. (true story.) So I set my phone to silent and took the desk closest to the door of the classroom. I put the phone on my desk and kept surreptitiously checking when a new text would come in. I would carefully type responses so as not to draw too much attention as the lecture progressed. Keep in mind that this was happening in a class of 13 people. THIRTEEN. Looking back, I'm pretty certain the lecturer knew that I was up to something.
As fate would have it, the lecture broke right as we hit halftime, and I got my final update: "35-25 at halftime. Fewest points in 1st half, biggest deficit at halftime for Syracuse." I almost danced up the stairs to the lab where we would begin our experiment, and started plotting ways to keep my phone in my back pocket, but still be able to check messages regularly.
On our way to the lab, I heard the lecturer (who was also leading this lab) ask someone else if they knew the Butler score. I almost tripped up the stairs, when I whirled around to blurt "35-25." He responded, "Syracuse?" to which I answered, "Nope. Butler. Can you believe it?"
What followed was a three minute conversation about Butler's chances, how the first half had gone, and how we couldn't believe they were up 10.
After that conversation, I went ahead and took the liberty of placing my cell phone in the same hood where my partner and I were conducting our experiment. Since the lab leader kept coming by to get the updates that I was getting, I figured I had a bit of license to be somewhat distracted.
Because both z and the boy were sending updates, I was getting different perspectives. When Syracuse pulled ahead, z was careful to never tell me the score...only who had possession and what foul had just been committed. The boy's updates were more irregular and more shorthanded (almost to the point where they could not be understood) but since he was giving me the score as Syracuse first caught up to, and then passed Butler, I could understand his stress.
Then suddenly, for a good five to ten minutes, both boys stopped sending updates. This coincided with a point in my experiment where I was washing my product with reagent and letting it sit for five minutes at a time - three washes. Three intervals of five minutes to obsessively check my phone for updates when, during the last two washes, none were forthcoming. I was fah-reaking out. We've already discussed how I can not handle suspense. And I had nothing. No way to check anything that was going on.
And then there was an explosion.
It seemed that everyone I knew was sending me a message. From "down by 4...they can't buy a basket... 4 min left," to "Woah, your boys r gonna win crazy!" to "holy shit!" to "62-56," "63-56. Syracuse ball," "63-58. 23.6. Foul on Syracuse," "Missed. Foul on Butler. In bounds to Syracuse," "12.7. Shooting foul on Butler. Almost made the shot too," "63-59," "Missed the second! Foul on Syracuse. Two shots. 9.9," "Missed the first," and finally "BUTLER WINS!"
These came in one after another after another. At one point I had 13 messages that I just could not keep up with even though I was reading them as they came in. Usually the first update would come from z (most of the messages above) and would be shortly followed by some variation of the same information from the boy. And then? Then came the Facebook updates after the win where EVERYONE freaked out.
It was unreal.
I know the game was stressful. I've seen the highlights and sorted through the text messages. Watching it would have been awesome. But this was a completely unique experience that was not the completely miserable situation I anticipated. My experience was tension from not knowing. Was jumping up and down while impatiently awaiting the next update and still managing to focus enough to time my reagent washes. My experience was excited chatter with others who didn't really have a stake in the game, but were catching on to my nervous excitement. It was sorting through a plethora of information that came all at once after a long period of knowing nothing at all. And finally it was jubilation that my team had just earned a huge win.
I was supposed to go home and go to sleep after that? No way. I live about five blocks from campus (if that) and if you stepped out on my porch in the rain, you could hear the noise from the students. I couldn't sleep. I watched highlights, I read Facebook posts, and I reveled in the excitement.
And I know that sports don't really matter. I know that I could be posting about any of several other more serious topics in the news lately. But when your team is the David that just beat Goliath? When the underdog gets a chance to say "Nah nah na nah naaaaaah?" It's a unique type of celebratory feeling. One that you want to revel in. To roll around in like a dog in an interesting smell. So that's my PSA for today. Get into sports. It's cheaper than drugs, and the highs are just as high. (just don't ask z about the lows.)
Now cross your fingers for Butler's next game at 4:30pm on Saturday, and if you have a time machine so that I can get study time in (for two tests!!) in ADDITION to watching that game? It would be appreciated.
*bonus points if you can tell me which movie the title came from.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
I hate everyone. Where's the caffeine?
So today marks the beginning of Lent.
Obviously, I was raised Catholic.
Being somewhat non-committal on the subject of religion now (I prefer to say that I "make it up as I go") I'm always surprised by the gravity that Lent has for me. By the longevity that it's had in my life. When I was little, it was (duh) because Easter was coming. Easter meant Easter baskets. Easter meant a pretty dress to wear to church. (If I was lucky, there was also a hat.)
These days, though there still are Easter baskets, (that still come from the "Easter Bunny" because my mother rocks) I think I prefer the tradition of the season. (Lord knows it's not the Easter mass that I enjoy... Sorry Lord.) I kind of like the sacrifice. I like the deliberate-ness of taking something small and important out of my life, and every time I turn to do it/eat it/use it out of habit for 40 days, I deliberately think of WHY I am not doing it/eating it/using it.
And why am I giving something up for 40 days and 40 nights? Well, to go into that would be to go into what I personally believe regarding religion and a higher power. And you guys don't want to read that, right? That is not what this blog is here for. Let's face it, you guys want to know what I gave up for Lent.
I don't have any set rules for what I give up each year. I usually just know what it is when I stumble upon it. It has to be difficult enough to be a sacrifice, but it can't be so difficult that I'm miserable for 40 days and 40 nights. In the past (before I had to cut back in order to have the innernetz at my house) I have given up Starbucks. That was difficult enough that I actually did that a couple of years running. Last year I gave up high fructose corn syrup. MAN. That stuff is in EVERYTHING. That was a tough one. When I was in high school I gave up carbonated beverages.
This year, when I solicited suggestions on Facebook, they ranged from the ridiculous (regular Coke - please, people... the goal is not to be miserable) to the non-applicable (American Idol - sorry...I don't partake.) But they led to some considerations. Give up Survivor and my beloved Colby? Somehow I don't think that would be difficult enough. Another friend suggested giving up texting (and blogging) and I was intrigued... until I realized that all that would do is probably raise my phone bill (and, let's be honest, how regular have I been with posting lately??)
As Fat Tuesday wound to a close and I hadn't yet thought of anything to sacrifice for Lent, I started to panic. In the end, instead of just giving in and giving up something reasonable like regular Coke (which would be really tough, but not impossible) I had a complete lapse of sanity and decided to give up the snooze button on my alarm clock. Let me say that again. I gave up the snooze button on my alarm clock. For Lent. For 40 days and 40 nights. No snooze button. I get up when my alarm goes off. Like, I hear my alarm, and then I have to get out of bed.
I can't even blame the boy for this suggestion. I did it all by myself. Madness.
Me. The person who owns several different types of pajamas that all say the same thing, "NOT A MORNING PERSON." Me. The person who my family has learned not to speak to until I've been awake for at least an hour or had Starbucks. Whichever comes first. (My mother gave me a coffee mug for Christmas that says "Crabby." Yep, that about sums it up.) Me. The person who could sleep for 13 hours at a time if you let her. Me. The person who had an organic chemistry lab that lasted until 10:20pm last night and had to be in to work at 7:00am. Me. The person who everyone was afraid to wake from a nap in college (except for one brave soul....) Even today the BOY hates waking me up from a nap. It's not pretty. I do love me some sleep.
The things I'll do in the name of religion....sheesh. I swear. (Wait. No I don't. Swearing is a sin. Oops.)
The first thing this sacrifice did was cause me to re-set my alarm for a reasonable time. No more of this setting-for-5:30am-in-order-to-get-up-at-6:00-or-6:15-stuff. The second thing it did was cause me to practice self restraint when my alarm went off this morning, I couldn't hit snooze, and I had to remember why. The object is not to be bitter when remembering why I'm sacrificing. Yeah. That was a challenge. My entire shower was spent thinking things like, "Not bitter. Doing this for a reason. Deliberately thinking about things that I otherwise might not spend time thinking about. Not bitter. Do not hate the world."
Of course, if my cat hadn't chosen today to poop on my doormat which caused me to realize that no, I hadn't yet gone to the store to replenish my supply of paper towels, I probably would have been a tad more successful.
Anyone else out there give something up? If not, you can still show me some love by giving me your thoughts on how successful I'll be at this undertaking. The boy thinks I'll last a week. He's so supportive.
Obviously, I was raised Catholic.
Being somewhat non-committal on the subject of religion now (I prefer to say that I "make it up as I go") I'm always surprised by the gravity that Lent has for me. By the longevity that it's had in my life. When I was little, it was (duh) because Easter was coming. Easter meant Easter baskets. Easter meant a pretty dress to wear to church. (If I was lucky, there was also a hat.)
These days, though there still are Easter baskets, (that still come from the "Easter Bunny" because my mother rocks) I think I prefer the tradition of the season. (Lord knows it's not the Easter mass that I enjoy... Sorry Lord.) I kind of like the sacrifice. I like the deliberate-ness of taking something small and important out of my life, and every time I turn to do it/eat it/use it out of habit for 40 days, I deliberately think of WHY I am not doing it/eating it/using it.
And why am I giving something up for 40 days and 40 nights? Well, to go into that would be to go into what I personally believe regarding religion and a higher power. And you guys don't want to read that, right? That is not what this blog is here for. Let's face it, you guys want to know what I gave up for Lent.
I don't have any set rules for what I give up each year. I usually just know what it is when I stumble upon it. It has to be difficult enough to be a sacrifice, but it can't be so difficult that I'm miserable for 40 days and 40 nights. In the past (before I had to cut back in order to have the innernetz at my house) I have given up Starbucks. That was difficult enough that I actually did that a couple of years running. Last year I gave up high fructose corn syrup. MAN. That stuff is in EVERYTHING. That was a tough one. When I was in high school I gave up carbonated beverages.
This year, when I solicited suggestions on Facebook, they ranged from the ridiculous (regular Coke - please, people... the goal is not to be miserable) to the non-applicable (American Idol - sorry...I don't partake.) But they led to some considerations. Give up Survivor and my beloved Colby? Somehow I don't think that would be difficult enough. Another friend suggested giving up texting (and blogging) and I was intrigued... until I realized that all that would do is probably raise my phone bill (and, let's be honest, how regular have I been with posting lately??)
As Fat Tuesday wound to a close and I hadn't yet thought of anything to sacrifice for Lent, I started to panic. In the end, instead of just giving in and giving up something reasonable like regular Coke (which would be really tough, but not impossible) I had a complete lapse of sanity and decided to give up the snooze button on my alarm clock. Let me say that again. I gave up the snooze button on my alarm clock. For Lent. For 40 days and 40 nights. No snooze button. I get up when my alarm goes off. Like, I hear my alarm, and then I have to get out of bed.
I can't even blame the boy for this suggestion. I did it all by myself. Madness.
Me. The person who owns several different types of pajamas that all say the same thing, "NOT A MORNING PERSON." Me. The person who my family has learned not to speak to until I've been awake for at least an hour or had Starbucks. Whichever comes first. (My mother gave me a coffee mug for Christmas that says "Crabby." Yep, that about sums it up.) Me. The person who could sleep for 13 hours at a time if you let her. Me. The person who had an organic chemistry lab that lasted until 10:20pm last night and had to be in to work at 7:00am. Me. The person who everyone was afraid to wake from a nap in college (except for one brave soul....) Even today the BOY hates waking me up from a nap. It's not pretty. I do love me some sleep.
The things I'll do in the name of religion....sheesh. I swear. (Wait. No I don't. Swearing is a sin. Oops.)
The first thing this sacrifice did was cause me to re-set my alarm for a reasonable time. No more of this setting-for-5:30am-in-order-to-get-up-at-6:00-or-6:15-stuff. The second thing it did was cause me to practice self restraint when my alarm went off this morning, I couldn't hit snooze, and I had to remember why. The object is not to be bitter when remembering why I'm sacrificing. Yeah. That was a challenge. My entire shower was spent thinking things like, "Not bitter. Doing this for a reason. Deliberately thinking about things that I otherwise might not spend time thinking about. Not bitter. Do not hate the world."
Of course, if my cat hadn't chosen today to poop on my doormat which caused me to realize that no, I hadn't yet gone to the store to replenish my supply of paper towels, I probably would have been a tad more successful.
Anyone else out there give something up? If not, you can still show me some love by giving me your thoughts on how successful I'll be at this undertaking. The boy thinks I'll last a week. He's so supportive.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
VD came, and VD went (with a little buyer's remorse)
It's that time of year again.
I have friends who love love LOVE February 14th, and get flowers and jewelry - the whole nine yards. I celebrate with them. If that makes them happy, then it makes me happy as well. I'm still a girl - I love a good romantic story as much as the next girl. Tell me all about what your husband/boyfriend/significant other did for you. Yay love!
Me? I don't want that. Save your money. Don't buy me flowers - my cat might eat them and they might be poisonous. Do you want to be responsible for killing my cat? Let's buy tickets to go see the Colts play next season. Infinitely more romantic from my perspective. Better yet? Spend Thursdays with me and don't complain when I watch Survivor and root for Colby. Commiserate with me when he's voted off, or celebrate with me when he wins. Even if you don't care. THAT'S what I want.
That doesn't make me bitter or angry or a VD hater. It's just a different perspective. I don't try to get other women to do as I do, I just don't choose to participate in this particular tradition. And that's okay. Personally, after the way I spent this February 14th, I don't think my life is lacking any in people that I love who also love me. There are multiple points of view in the world. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it's good to remember that.
So I say enjoy VD whatever way you do or can. Or not. Whatever. But tell me all about it whether there were flowers, diamonds, or pizza in front of the TV involved. Me? I wore red, ate waffles with two of my favorite people, fruitlessly studied organic chemistry and then squeezed in some quality time with my favorite boy and my favorite dog. No commercialization involved. Just another Sunday.
On a more important topic, I purchased a dress
today and am feeling a bit of buyer's remorse. I drove past the dress for over a week before I absolutely had to purchase it lest someone else get to it first. (In case you hadn't noticed, I don't generally react this way to clothing.) The problem is that it was full price. Not too expensive, but still. Emily doesn't like paying full price. So I'm torn. Keep it or return it. So I decided to handle this decision the way I would handle any big decision... I'll let the internets decide.
So, internets... To keep the dress, or not to keep the dress? That is the question. (But don't forget to tell me about your VD too!!)
I have friends who love love LOVE February 14th, and get flowers and jewelry - the whole nine yards. I celebrate with them. If that makes them happy, then it makes me happy as well. I'm still a girl - I love a good romantic story as much as the next girl. Tell me all about what your husband/boyfriend/significant other did for you. Yay love!
Me? I don't want that. Save your money. Don't buy me flowers - my cat might eat them and they might be poisonous. Do you want to be responsible for killing my cat? Let's buy tickets to go see the Colts play next season. Infinitely more romantic from my perspective. Better yet? Spend Thursdays with me and don't complain when I watch Survivor and root for Colby. Commiserate with me when he's voted off, or celebrate with me when he wins. Even if you don't care. THAT'S what I want.
That doesn't make me bitter or angry or a VD hater. It's just a different perspective. I don't try to get other women to do as I do, I just don't choose to participate in this particular tradition. And that's okay. Personally, after the way I spent this February 14th, I don't think my life is lacking any in people that I love who also love me. There are multiple points of view in the world. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it's good to remember that.
So I say enjoy VD whatever way you do or can. Or not. Whatever. But tell me all about it whether there were flowers, diamonds, or pizza in front of the TV involved. Me? I wore red, ate waffles with two of my favorite people, fruitlessly studied organic chemistry and then squeezed in some quality time with my favorite boy and my favorite dog. No commercialization involved. Just another Sunday.
On a more important topic, I purchased a dress
today and am feeling a bit of buyer's remorse. I drove past the dress for over a week before I absolutely had to purchase it lest someone else get to it first. (In case you hadn't noticed, I don't generally react this way to clothing.) The problem is that it was full price. Not too expensive, but still. Emily doesn't like paying full price. So I'm torn. Keep it or return it. So I decided to handle this decision the way I would handle any big decision... I'll let the internets decide.So, internets... To keep the dress, or not to keep the dress? That is the question. (But don't forget to tell me about your VD too!!)
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