Two E-mail Conversations We've Had That Classify Us As Crazy Dog People

We are "those" people.

Conversation 1:
Brittany: It has been so hot today, I have to get out of the house, I'm melting. Let's go out for dinner after your done working. 
Adam: I hate the idea of us out enjoying ourselves, while Sarah is sitting at home alone and hot.
Brittany: Yeah, but she is a dog. I'll leave all the fans going and give her ice water.
Adam: You must protect the BABY!
Brittany: Even though it is so hot, she is still happy, wagging her tail, and smiling. She is SOO BRAVE!
Adam: She is SOO STOIC.

Conversation 2: 
Adam: Do you think we should leave the ant poison in the middle of the floor like that?
Brittany: Yes because that is where all the ants seem to be.
Adam: What if Sarah licks it?*
Brittany: The hole is way too small for her to get any.
Adam: But what if she eats an ant that has just eaten the poison, and there is enough in that one ant to kill her?
Brittany: *blinks, blinks*

*We ultimately moved the poison to be safe, although I think the one killer ant theory is bogus.

P.S.-I'm flying to Atlanta tomorrow for a friend's wedding, so I hope everyone has a kick ass labor day weekend!

Home of Wayward Animals

I just want to preface this entire post by saying I am not getting a second dog YET. I just didn't want to get you all ready for good news then have to let you down. I'd rather let you down gently, kind of like I dropped you on six feather mattress stacked on a pool filled with marsh mellows.

I am one of those people seriously lacking self-control; I think it is mostly due to my obsessive nature. I see a commercial for a piece of cheesecake, I want it. I mean really want it. I obsess and obsess and obsess over that piece of cheesecake, until I get that cheesecake. When I find something I want while shopping, usually a cute pair of shoes, it physically hurts me to walk out of the store without them. Although since I'm now broke most of time, it has become a lot easier! When I see a cute baby, I seriously contemplate stealing it, heck I'd even take a ugly baby at this point. When I see a cute man on the street, I jump his bones stare at him (Hey, I'm married not dead). And right now I want another dog.

You see recently my grandmother took a tumble. She is in her 80's and will probably never fully be back to her old self, as far as walking goes. She has a roly poly wiener dog named Gretta. Well if you want to be technical about it her name is Gretta Van Helene Berry. Gretta is probably the most anxious dog I've ever met. Loud noises make her shake, lots of people around her makes her shake, and if you go to pet her and you are standing up, she cowers. I love her because frankly she is my kindred spirit. I am just as socially anxious. And I too cower when strangers try to pet me. Gretta adores my grandmother and sits in her lap all the time. Unfortunately now she can't be with grandma like that because it is painful to have her sit on her lap, and it is hard to train Gretta not to jump on her. So the family is in the process of finding Gretta a replacement home and we are on the possibilities list.

We adopted Sarah from my brother after he lost his house and had to move into an apartment. Yeah, it wasn't easy convincing Adam to take in Sarah. Try convincing your husband WHO HATES CHANGE that a 100 lb golden retriever in a one bedroom house won't be a problem (by the way, Sarah has lost 20lbs since she moved in with us, my house is a doggy fat farm). Arguing with Adam about Sarah wasn't one of my prettiest moments. I think it is probably the only time I've wanted something in my adult life that actually made me cry. And it wasn't like I was fake crying, I was really heartbroken at the thought of not getting her. Eventually he relented and one Saturday we drove to Phoenix and picked her up from my brother, and the rest is history. He adores Sarah, I adore Sarah (almost to the point of sickness), and it made us a family. Do you just cringe at the cheesiness of that statement? Since getting Sarah, we have joked that our home is part of the family pet relocation program or a home for wayward animals.

When my mother asked me if I would like to have Gretta, I decided I really did. But I dreaded having that talk with Adam. I would rather relive that painful conversation I had with my mother in high school, when she said and I quote, "You can't have sex, but you can still do the OTHER STUFF." Being that our "Sarah" talk was probably one of the hardest conversations Adam and I have ever had, I was too chicken s*** to bring up Gretta face to face. So I did what chickens and bad boyfriends and girlfriends who want to break-up with someone have been doing for about a decade, I sent him an e-mail at work. Thank God I live in the age of e-mail; I get so many uncomfortable tasks accomplished that way. In college, I would send an e-mail to my mother when I needed money or bounced my account (I used to be HORRID with money), so I wouldn't have to tell her on the phone. And then I would dodge her e-mails for days until she was no longer mad at me. I'm such a wimp, I know it. But I have a chemical imbalance, I can't help it. Right?

The e-mail to Adam was peppered with "just hear me outs," "I promise I won't cry this time," "I won't hate you if you say no," (although I totally would), and "I promise there are no more animals left in the family to adopt." He fired back with "how will we afford her," "Is there no one else who can take her," and "I don't want to walk two dogs at once." Then I promised he wouldn't have to do a thing, I would do it all. This is exactly what I did for the first few weeks when we first got Sarah, before he decided he wanted to pitch in. But that tactic made me feel like a 5 year old bargaining with my mother. "Please Mommy, I want a puppy!"

Eventually I agreed that we wouldn't revisit the issue unless a home could not be found for her. And I know married couples are supposed to make mutual decisions and compromise and blah, blah, blah, blah. But I still really just want Gretta. Like really want Gretta. So while I think Adam made some really good points, it hasn't stopped me from dropping hints about my true feelings. Sometimes in the evening I talk in Sarah's voice (you know the voice you use when your voicing your dog's feelings, or am I the only one that does that? Tell me I'm not). And Sarah says, "Daddy, I'd really love a baby sister, Daddy." "Daddy, you'd love Gretta." "Gretta was my best friend when I lived in Texas." Then he rolls his eyes.

My other argument (or tool of manipulation) I'm using involves reality TV. All you guys out their in blog world know I love reality tv. I mean I LOVE reality TV. And Adam hates reality TV about as much as I love it. Sometimes he even employs headphones to ignore my TV habits. Sometimes when Sarah is sitting around the house goofily smiling for no reason at all, Adam will ask her what she is so happy about. I will usually reply with something like, "She is so happy because the Jersey Shore is on!" Then he mumbles something under his breathe about how he doesn't understand how people can like that crap and I'm like," Duh! I like it because it is crap!" It is just like watching a train wreck. But the other day, I told Adam that like him Gretta hates reality TV, so if we adopt her it will no longer be two against one, and together they have a better chance of regaining the remote.

That is a solid argument if you ask me. Yet, he hasn't budged. I don't know what will happen in the next few weeks, although I know what I want to happen. So who knows maybe Gretta will enter the Family Relocation Program and be here before I know it.

A Golden Tale

So tonight before Adam went to bed, he asked Sarah if she would like to hear a bedtime story. I know this sounds insane, and its not like he has ever told her bedtime stories before. But I guess when it boils down to it, a big part of our lives is coming home from work and saying really ridiculous things to our dog. But I wanted to share the story with you guys. So here is A Golden Tale by Shel Silversten Adam M.

Long ago, in the kingdom far away across the Great White Ocean, there lived a monarchy that was ruled by three ruling goldies. These goldies ruled a vast land overflowing with raw hide bones, fried chicken, and McDonald’s french fries. However, the goldies did not know their limits, and soon became greedy. The greediness lead to sloth and stifled their creativity. It took their promise and smashed it upon the rock of laziness! This is a cautionary tale, young Sarah.

In other news, I've been serving on a jury all this week (wrapped today), and I can't wait to tell you guys all about it because the defendant was actually a celebrity! Talk about a quintessential Southern California experience. I go in for jury duty, get chosen, and its a celeb. That is better than my, "I saw Richard Simmons at LAX story!" But jury duty has set me so far behind in work and school, I barely have any time to breathe. And I'm running on like no sleep, so now I'm having issues sleeping because my body was like, "Ok girlfriend, so you don't ever get in bed before 3 a.m., I'm going to make it impossible for you to fall asleep before that time from now on, TAKE THAT." Which would be fine if one ornery golden retriever didn't make it her job to wake me up.

I also haven't been able to check up on everyone in the blogosphere, so I can't wait to have time to come by and say hi.

About Minute Ten I Realized This Was A Little Extreme

It is no secret that I love my dog. I think most people really adore their dogs, but I think couples like us who don't yet have kids may love their dogs just a little too much. But how could you not love her? Just look at that face, she is just so PRECIOUS!!! And yes it is necessary to put that in all caps and use three exclamation points. Because she is so PRECIOUS!!

A few weeks ago Sarah had an ear infection (that cost me a punch in the stomach sum), so the vet gave me a bottle of ear wash to give her every week, to help prevent  further ear infections. I have to sneak attack her to squirt that stuff in her ears, and then hold her down while she tries to run away. As soon as I have massaged it into her ear completely, I let  her go. She runs off and shakes her ears a million times, rolls on her back, and thrashes around and grunts, before high tailing it as far away from me as possible. But then I just have to sneak attack her again, to get her other ear. So the routine repeats, but after the second time around she now spends the rest of the afternoon actively avoiding me.

She doesn't care that I do all this for her own good, she just thinks I'm evil, and she needs to punish me for my evilness.The punishment works because I hate when anyone is unhappy with me, even my dog. So I was reading on the internet, and it suggested that I warm the ear wash before putting it in the ears, because the coldness can really startle the dog. We have no heat in the house, it is Winter, so I figured the medicine had been frigid. So today when I went to clean her ears, I decided I would try warming it first. At first I was going to microwave it. But that sounded like a recipe for disaster. Who knows what chemicals are in that stuff? So instead I put it in a hot water bath on the stove. You know like you would do with a baby bottle? I spent 20 minutes (on a very busy day) heating up medicine for Sarah, and testing it on my hand to make sure it was the right tempature. Not to hot, not to cold, I'm like a Sainted Goldilocks. This is when I realized I might be a little too wrapped up in my dog..

Sarah acted pretty much the same way she did when I didn't heat up the medicine. But the act of doing it made me feel less guilty. So I will continue to heat the medicine, just to make myself feel like a better person. Yes, I may love my dog a little too much.

This Whole Thing Makes Me Sound Like a Pansy

I've been home nearly a week now, and its taken me nearly a week to get back into my old routine. Too much food, the luxury of not working, too much activity, too much excitement, and this old lady was spent. But I was aware enough of my surroundings to know that Sarah wasn't acting like herself. She wasn't through the roof excited when I came home from my self-imposed exile, and she kept scratching at her ears and they smelled like dirty sweat socks in a boy's locker room. Sarah, being a golden retriever, gets ear infections often, so I decided I would take her into the vet, to check things out.

On a side note: I probably have had more ear infections at age 23 than anyone on the face of the earth. Most of my childhood memories involve me treating ear infections, or having ear tube surgery. I've had some weird ones too-once during a flight my ear drum didn't pop back into place when the altitude drop, my ear drum has burst, I had a fungus problem for months (gross I know), and once I got a pencil eraser stuck in my ear. But that last one, was probably my fault. So now every time I get so much as a sniffle my mom freaks outs and claims that one sniffle is going to cause an ear infection. "It's going to go to your ears!!" she cries. But she doesn't do this in a calm way, she does it more like a chicken with her head cut off (which is basically the way me and my mother always communicate, since we both have anxiety disorders). So I always spend several days talking my mother off the, "Its going to go to your ears ledge." It is exhausting.

When I walked into the vet's office, I noticed a really big turtle (tortoise maybe) rolling around the main office. And I do mean rolling. Apparently the turtle, named George, had lost one of his legs in an accident, and the vet had replaced the leg with a pool ball. So he clunks around the office pretty easily. I was originally worried that Sarah would bully the turtle, as she likes to do with any animal that isn't a dog (She once broke into a neighbor's chicken coup and ate a live chicken). But she just sniffed George and dismissed George. After that, I didn't give a second thought to the turtle. Once I got Sarah back into the examining room, it was confirmed that she had an ear infection, and they also called her fat. Which yeah she is fat, but I'm fat- so what can I say? lol

So they took Sarah to the back room to clean out her ears, and I heard a steady clunk, clunking noise coming down the hall. Then the not so little turtle George poked his head around the corner outside my room. I guess something about me peaked his interest, because he started moving towards me. And he kept moving toward me, and I kind of went from being amused to a little scared. I was worried because this turtle seemed so determined to get to me. So I just kind of sat there with my anxiety levels rising, as he creeped closer to me. I mean I certainly wasn't going to ask someone to help me, because admitting I was scared of a turtle seemed worse than losing a toe. But luckily the vet walked by and rescued me, and told me she was afraid he would go for my toes since I was wearing flip flops. I was so relieved and happy that I saved my toes without having to admit my fear.

But about 5 minutes later, just as I was starting to relax, George had returned to torture me. I am watching this three-legged turtle limp towards me, telling myself over and over, "YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY BE SCARED OF A HANDICAPPED TURTLE." I mean I'm scared of things like napkins, freeways, and life, but not poor George. But I'm just sitting there watching the turtle come at me like a slow, death march, praying someone will walk by the door and save me, and trying to hide my feet. He finally gets close enough to strike, and is bobbing his head up and down, when my survival instinct kicked in, and I realized I needed to move him. Brilliant, right? But I was afraid to move him with my hands, because HELLO I need my fingers.

So I take my wallet, and literally just roll him the other direction. He would pretty quickly turn himself around using the pool ball he has for a leg. I must have had to turn him around five or six times, before the vet came back with Sarah to save me. Finally, she put George in the back room so I didn't have to worry about him any longer, so I got to hold on to a small piece of my pride. I got Sarah back and then nearly wanted to barf when I paid the bill, all the stuff they did plus flea medication cost me $241.00. I mean Seriously? Seriously? I look at that cute face, and shes so worth it, but still that really hurt. I'm not quite sure yet how I feel about the nationwide health care option, but I could definitely get behind free health care for pets.

Because She is too Precious for Her Own Good

I love how she keeps looking at me, as if to say please stop the madness.

That Was An Ordeal

Today we gave Sarah a bath. I don't even like uttering those words, because bathing Sarah is a form of rare and unusual punishment, that shouldn't be given to even the hardest of criminals. But Sarah was starting to get that lovely Goldie aroma, and when she would walk in front of a fan I would be knocked unconscious for a few minutes. Not even kidding. Yet when Adam turned to me last week and innocently asked, "Should we give Sarah a bath this weekend?" I noticeably cringed, and then thought about taking a second job so I could justify paying someone to bath her for me.

To even get Sarah into the bathroom, we have to leash her. Which is kind of sad, because she gets so excited thinking she is going to go on a walk. But the second we get into the hallway, the light in her brain goes off, and all movement halts. Thus begins the really tricky part of the operation. Sarah weighs 95 lbs. Yes, she is plump. But believe it or not, she was a lot plumper when she first entered the family's relocation program (we adopted her from my brother). The first words my brother said to us, when he handed her over was, "Her favourite food is McDonald's french fries." So she used to live on human food alone. But I don't really like to feed dogs table scraps, because I don't like a dog who begs, and I don't have enough money to feed them from the table. So Sarah promptly lost 20 lbs. (But yes Sarah does get the occasionally french fry).

So Sarah throws herself to the ground, and her legs go limp. So Adam has to scoot all 95 lbs of dead weight inch by inch into the bathroom. Once we get in the bathroom, Adam takes her front, and I take here back and we left her into our tall claw foot tub. I then have to get in the tub with her to wash her. For a few minutes, Sarah accepts her fate, and we hurriedly splash water on her and soap her up. But after a short amount of time, she starts forming her escape plan. We know how she acts, so we have learned to keep the door closed during the bath. Today she tried to escape, knocking over the trash can in the process. So now we are washing her, and then having to pull her backwards every few seconds to prevent her jumping out.

Once we are finally done, we let her jump out. She shakes a million times, and the bathroom is a wreck. We towel her off, let her leave, and she continues to shake in the living room. By this time, we are both soaking wet, and in need of showers ourselves. Sarah spends the rest of the day pretending like we don't exist and pouting. And I spend the rest of the day cleaning the bathroom and washing all the mats and towels.

Are You Ready for this Belly?

Have I ever told you about our God awful couches? They are couches that I had the misfortune of inheriting when we moved in together. Adam bought them used four years ago from a coworker. Maybe they were decent at one time (I doubt it), but now they are terrible. The cushions never stay put, so the longer you sit, the deeper you sink. Putting you into positions that even the best cirque du soleil performer wouldn't attempt. Heaven forbid you want to take a nap on the couch, because I guarantee you will end up with spring marks on your face & back pain like your grandma. Our couches are gluttons, constantly eating our cell phones and remote controls. Plus the couches are green, so they go with nothing in our house, especially the red chair that Adam picked out. It's Christmas year round here! We hate our couches so much, that we have told everyone not to get Christmas gifts for us, but to donate to the,"Brittany and Adam would donate their first born child to get new couches fund."

Two nights ago, Sarah had hoped onto the couch and gotten herself stuck. So Adam moved her a bit, and she ended up stuck in the position you see at the beginning of the video. And I guess we are kind of immature, because every time she wagged her tail we laughed, because it looked kind of dirty. So I shot this little video. I wish I had shot longer, because the five minutes it took to get her free were hilarious. She kept looking at us like, "What are those stupid humans doing to me?" But she just kept wagging her tail the whole time.

P.S-I don't usually laugh like that. I had been laughing so hard, I couldn't even breathe. And I think I sound like a man, so tell me I don't. Please?

The Duplex (minus Drew Barrymore)

So the first time I mentioned to Adam that it might be a good idea for us to look for a new place to live just to lower our expenses, he looked at me like I had just turned into a pumpkin. People there is no one in this world that hates change more than my husband. Getting him to change his mind is like getting my grandmother to realize that it is wash, washing machine, and Washington D.C., and not WRASH, WRASHING MACHINE, and WRASHINGTON D.C. And believe me, that would be a herculean effort. She's from Kentucky y'all. (I love Kentuckians, I was just joking).

Immediately he said, "But I thought you liked this place!" I mean, duh, I love this place, it was the first place that we picked out together. But when we moved in, we had always planned that I would find a 9-5 job. However, I only ever found part time work, which in a way I'm happy about. If I had gotten a full-time job, I would have gotten comfortable, and would not have decided to go for my master's degree. So we are making the bills, but we don't have a lot left over for many fun things or to save for our future & honeymoon (which just happens to be to WRASHINGTON, D.C. (Oh, the conversations I will have with grandma!) I dropped the subject, hoping what I had said would eventually sink into that stubborn head of his.

I brought the subject up a few weeks later, and he was still dead set against it. But then one morning I stumbled out of bed to find an email from Adam at work that said, "You can rub this in my face till the end of time, but I think you were right about moving..." When I read "you were right," a million angels appeared and starting singing Hallelujah! (True Story). I decided to be the bigger person and not do the, "I'm right and you were wrong dance." Well....I didn't do it when he was at home.

Adam began the hunt, and turned up nothing. Because there is one type of discrimination that is overlooked in this world, and that is golden retriever discrimination. Sarah is the kindest, sweetest, most well-behaved, most well-trained, and laziest dog in the whole world. She sleeps all day, doesn't bark, and would never bite. But try telling a landlord that an 85 lb dog won't be any trouble, and then watch their head spin around and around . The big problem I have with people not wanting to let their renters have big dogs is this: little dogs can be just as/or more destructive than big dogs. So all our conversations with prospective landlords went like this, "She is a big dog, but just hear me out..." My dog she comes with a disclaimer.

I had lined up 3 appointments to see some places that would take Sarah (who gets it done, I do). The first place we saw was a beautiful 1920's duplex. It had beautiful laminate floors, newly painted walls, and faux marble floors in the kitchen. There is a place to park behind the house, so we no longer have to deal with street parking. It is nicely shaded, so it never gets very hot. It has this cute/funny little dining nook in the kitchen that actually contains a booth from an old Subway shop. Sounds weird, but it is pretty cute. We took the house.


So apparently I have a knack for finding green houses, and the outside looks a lot like our old cottage.

Living Room View One.

Living Room View Two

Kitchen View One (I took Sarah with me so she could check out her new home. She approves)

Kitchen View Two with Dining Nook and Sarah's tail. The white splotch is a paint splatter that we have cleaned up.

Bedroom View One.

Bedroom View Two.

365 days ago (give or take):

I hiccuped for 30 minutes straight; I hiccuped through the phone call to Adam in which I told him about the spider as big as my FIST that I let get away (I wasn’t going to tell him the actual size of the spider, it would make the story seem less TRAUMATIZING). I had to remind him that because I had let the spider get away, when I went to bed that night I wouldn’t be able to sleep because I would imagine I felt that spider crawling on me all night long.

I have trouble sleeping the night after I see a spider STILL, I always feel like they are crawling all over me.

The Secret Life of Bees

Once I was stung by a bumble bee on the lip. I don't really remember the pain of that sting, but I do remember that my lip swelled to 5X its normal size, and it made me look like I was taking part in some underground, four year olds version of Fight Club. Yes, this was back in those carefree preschool days. That is if you define "carefree" as feeling like a total failure because your teacher tells you that you must have ants in your pants, because you never manage to fall asleep in those uncomfortable & cold cots at nap time. A feeling of failure that will only be repeated in kindergarten when no matter how hard you try, the simple act of learning to tie your shoes evades you.

That sting left me with a pretty big fear of bees. So to combat my fear my mother gave me a piece of advice, "If a bee is around you, just stand very still, because the bee just thinks you are a flower, and once he realizes you are not a flower he will fly away." She made me realize I didn't have to fear the bees; they were just innocent, confused little creatures. So life was great until the day I spent an entire hour at Spanish Lake Park sitting stock still on top of the jungle gym, with tears streaming down my face because a honeybee just wouldn't go away. My mom had to literally grab me and run, it was the only way I was coming down from there. I wasn't stung that day, but I've always held onto the belief that each bee has their own internal GPS system, and that they were all programmed to track me. And if I ran from the bee its GPS would just recalculate, just as my GPS does whenever I refuse to bend to her will.

So I went 18 years without a sting, but all that flew out the window two weeks ago. I always take Sarah out for her morning walk. Adam used to take her for her morning walk, and I would take her out in the evening. But it seems that all the crazies in the neighborhood come out at night, and the crazies like to hit on me, and it all made me very uneasy. That and Adam always plays video games on Saturday mornings, and it made him feel bad when I would roll out of bed at noon and remark, "You Haven't Walked the Dog YET?" I haven't asked Adam, but I know my husband pretty well, and I'm sure he was more concerned about his "gamer guilt" than me being scared of the crazies.

My grumpiness and laziness in the morning is legendary, and I would like nothing more than to just roll out of bed and take Sarah out in my pjs. But I don't know how the crazies would react . So I usually just pull a pair of pants out of the laundry and head out the door. This particular morning was no different. I had already leashed Sarah and she was really hyper because I had just yelled," You want to go Walkies?" I hate to admit that I routinely use the word "walkies". And when I say "walkies" her head explodes and she can't contain her excitement. Because she is going outside! Where she can eat chicken bones off the sidewalk! And sniff other dog's butts! And greet people who might not want to be greeted!"

I threw on my pants and sat down to tie my shoes, and all of a sudden my left butt check felt like it was on fire. I immediately ran to the mirror and saw a perfect red circle on my butt. I couldn't figure it out. At this point Sarah is whining and going crazy because we have yet to go outside, and I am totally confused and in pain. I walk into the living room, and I see something crawling on the floor. I think it’s a spider, and I'm sure I'm about to die, so I call Adam at work to tell him that I'm dying (He appreciated the heads up). But when I get a closer look I see that it is a bee, and the bee is now dying a slow & painful death on the hardwood floor. First I call Adam back and tell him I'm not dying. Then I run to the bathroom and get some insect spray, and in a rage I spray the s*** out of that thing. It finally died and I left it there on the floor for Adam to clean up when he got home, because I couldn't bring myself to touch it. This is what men are for, to kill and clean up the bugs.

But you may be wondering how a bee got into my pants INSIDE my home. You see Adam and I live in a tiny little cottage, and we are lucky enough to have our own washer and dryer. But the exhaust tube from the dryer isn't built in, so when we dry clothes we have to open up the window and hang the tube out of it. Folks this is what $1200 a month rent in Southern California will get you: a non built in dryer tube, a lopsided toilet, weird peach colored bedroom walls, no dishwasher, and a lawn the size of a postage stamp. And we absolutely love our home. One day we will have children, and they will inevitably throw temper tantrums over material things that they will believe they cannot be happy without. We will have to sit them down and tell them about the days when we first got married. When we had little money and not a lot of luxuries, but we laughed all the time and were perfectly happy. This will drive our kids bonkers I'm sure.

So I guess it is possible that while doing laundry a bee could fly in through the window. After a while, the bee began losing strength and it crawled into my track pants to die. And then I put on the pants and the bee mustered up enough strength to sting the heck out of my behind. Let me tell you that sting itched like crazy. There is nothing sexier than when you are constantly walking around scratching your butt. So now not only do I have a renewed bee phobia, but I also feel nervous when I'm slipping on my clothes every morning.

365 days ago (give or take):

I had lost my mother's love forever. I walked back to my bedroom, opened my closet door, emptied all the toys out of my toy box, shut the closet door, climbed in the box, and shut the lid.

I wrote this for my friend Jenny. She constantly asks me to tell her this story, for some reason she can't get enough of it. All I can say about this entry is God Bless my poor, long suffering mother.

You are Beautiful Too, Sidewalk

This was written on a sidewalk I passed on the way to Sarah's vet, where I was taking her to get a few shots. This was obviously written just for me, but I just have to wonder how did they know I would be walking by this morning?

P.S.-Sarah spent ten minutes perched on top of the waiting room couch, with her nose glued to the aquarium. I could see the thought bubble above her head, "As soon as that fish leaps out of the bowl, it will be mine, ALL MINE." Sarah doesn't seem to think any other animal should be allowed to exist if it isn't a dog. My brother (who I adopted Sarah from) still doesn’t know what happened to one of their old hamsters....

365 days ago (give or take):

Once again people in our group came from all over-we had people from Amsterdam, Switzerland, Belgium, Brazil, Portugal, England, France, and Germany. And on the way home the tour guide taught us an Israel song about peace. And we sang it in Hebrew, some how this turned into international karaoke.

That made me smile to read back over that passage. When everyone started getting up and singing their individual country’s anthems and songs I knew that would be a moment I would remember forever. Also I talk about Nazareth, Cana, and Galilee.

Snapshots of the Everyday

One of the best pieces of advice, and the most ignored pieces of advice, my mother ever gave me was to never go to the grocery store hungry. But that is what Adam and I do every weekend, wait until we are absolutely starving, with no food left in the house, before finally getting off our butts to go shopping. And this is exactly what we did last Saturday. The thing I love most about the neighborhood I'm living in is that it is only a few blocks from the grocery store, and not to mention a total kick ass Chinese take-out place. So we always walk to the store, our eco-friendly bags in tow, with a list of approximately 15 items.

But then we got to the store and absolutely everything looks good. So by the time we check out, we have more than doubled our list. And not only do we have small items, but we also have big, heavy items like dog food & several gallons of milk. (On a side note: Adam and I both drink an insane amount of milk each week. So much so that if one of us ever gets osteoporosis, I'm suing for false advertising).

One of the things we had decided we just had to have was some cupcakes (curse them for putting the bakery by the deli). I had finally convinced Adam that we had to get the white cupcakes, why anyone would want chocolate cupcakes is honestly beyond my understanding. I hate most things made of chocolate. (Blasphemy, I know). So Adam put the cupcakes in the buggy, and then proceeded to give me a lecture about being careful with the precious cupcakes, and I'm like, "dude, really, I can protect the cupcakes."

The problem with us buying the whole store is now we have to walk the whole store home. So as soon as we get our groceries and step outside of Ralph’s, it hits us that we have to lug all this stuff home. *Groan, Complain, Bitch* I suggested he go get the car, but he said, "No, we can handle this!" And for a split second I think, "I love this guy; he would never lead me astray, so we CAN HANDLE THIS." Then I picked up the bags, which pinched my shoulders, and I started to waddle home. Believe me, waddling is the only way you can walk when you feel like you are playing piggy back with an elephant. At first I was able to keep up with Adam's pace, but soon I found myself dragging behind. I told Adam to go on without me, because I'd get there eventually. But he stops anyway and looks at me like he is a solider on a battlefield and exclaims, "No Man Left Behind!"

We finally get home, both exhausted, basking in the knowledge of how much fuel we must have saved by not driving that block and a half! I immediately started putting the groceries away, and I discovered the cupcakes had been flipped over on their side. This was not done by the cashier, but by my husband-to-be, Mister. Grocery Store Cupcake Lecturer himself. He simply replied, "I forgot," when I teased him about it. As a result of this blatant mishandling, half of the cupcakes had fallen on their side, smearing the icing. But thank the heavens above that the plastic Laker rings that topped the cupcakes remained unharmed.

Adam and I divided the cupcakes up equally. This is because being in a relationship is a lot like being in a kindergarten class at snack time. If everything isn’t fair and equal we throw big tantrums. That afternoon I decided I was ready for the cupcake ration that I had allotted myself for the day. So I wandered into the kitchen to find that half of the cupcakes had already been eaten. If there is anything that really emphasis Adam and mine's personality differences it is this, he wants to have everything right away and I like to plan & organize to make things last as long as possible.

But not only had he ate all his cupcakes, he had devoured only the non-defective ones. Leaving me the ones he had toppled. I asked him why he did this and he said, “Oh I forgot.” Forgot my ass that was a pre-mediated act! But my mom also used to tell me, “Your Sins will Catch Up with You,” and they caught up with him, when I threw him the remote control that night, and it accidentally beamed him in the face. HARD.

And this is what Sarah thinks of her daddy eating all the good cupcakes!

365 days ago (give or take):

So next we headed out into the Judean dessert – driving alongside the West Bank and we eventually hit the Dead Sea. We stopped there and what a surprise that it was a real beach…It was gorgeous. Which was surprising, since I always pictured dead as in ugly.

Day 2 in Israel, We see the Dead Sea! And Masada! And Gazelles! And nearly get killed driving in Jeursalem!

Ho Ho Ho Holy Smokes!

This has been a holiday season for the record books. First, I spent 5 nights alone waiting to join Adam in Wisconsin for the holiday festivities. In that time, I learned that I should never ever be left alone. Because A. I nearly lost the dog, B. I nearly burnt down the house, and C. I set off the Carbon Monoxide detector. A. was a situation that was truly not my fault, but it resulted in me not being on speaking terms with Sarah for a good half hour, and running down a busy street in my pj pants that Adam loving describes as my big bird pants. Ok, so that’s not a long time. But have you seen her? She is cuter than a baby hippo wearing a polka dotted dress eating a cupcake. And who could stay mad at that kind of cuteness? B. & C. are situations that were entirely MY FAULT, but they paint me in a very blonde light. So those are for me to know, and for you guys to never ever even come close to figuring out.

When my exile in California was over, the day came for me to fly to Wisconsin. There was no reason for me to be stressed out, except for the fact that I would be meeting my in-laws for the first time, with only 100 days to go till the wedding. So if they were big meanies or cannibalistic, there was no turning back because the wedding cake had already been paid for. Though honestly it is MY family that is nutso, and operates just like a three-ringed circus. What I didn't expect was a four hour delay at LAX, or the two hours sitting on the tarmac in Chicago. All of which can be blamed on Chicago. Damn Chicago (just kidding). And I certainly didn't expect to not get into Wisconsin until 2 a.m., or not getting to meet everyone until the next morning. Come morningtime I look more like medusa than the 22 year old bombshell that I am.


Snow in Wisconsin
I don't remember much about my first evening in Wisconsin. I do remembering repeatedly saying, "I am cold, I am cold." and "Oh, Snow!" I recall being shocked that no one woke up as Adam hauled my heavy suitcase up very, very creaky stairs, cussing & knocking things over along the way. Then I lay awake wondering why Adam snores so much softer on the floor than in the bed, and wondering how I could get him to sleep on the floor at home. (whilst secretly hating him for being asleep, when all I could do was toss & turn). The next thing I know Adam was literally pushing me downstairs so I could meet his family, because I was content to hibernate upstairs till it was time to head back to the airport. But I got along with his family just fine. I told his dad that his house was cute, and apparently you don't say things like that about a man's house. But it was painted baby blue, so how that could not be classified as cute?

I got lovely gifts, and Adam got so many sets to add to his Lego collection that I thought his heart was going to explode from the joy of it all. And I learned the definition of love is spending two and a half hours deconstructing Lego sets so they will fit in your fiancé’s tiny carry on bag. TWO AND A HALF HOURS. How many women would do that for someone over the age of 5? Especially since they would have fit in a regular sized suitcase, but no Adam won't pay the $15.00 fee. So he packs about two pairs of pants and one shirt, and washes everything everyday. Oye men.

Then the day came to head back to California, which should have been a simple process. But when we woke up everything was coated in fog. But we headed to the airport optimistically, oh how naïve we were. Adam and I were booked on separate flights, and his was canceled. They couldn't get him out till Monday.... But he was calm about it, and all he could say was, "If the Green Bay Packers lose tomorrow, than that is it." He has his priorities in check, people. The airline assured me that my afternoon flight to Chicago would take off as planned. I hugged & kissed Adam goodbye, and wondered if our house could possibly survive me home alone a few more days. But the airport lied. There was a winter storm brewing in Chicago, did I mention before Damn Chicago? So we ended up staying a few extra days, and luckily got to fly out together and even sit with each other. Which means I got to bug Adam the whole way home! We even landed in Chicago; apparently Chicago exists if you believe it exists. But still damn Chicago.

Bah Humbug!

I have a definite blogging block lately, chalk it up to stress-but I have no great stories to tell. So I'm just going to sit down & write anything that comes to mind.

While it was a lot of fun stealing away to Texas for a bit, I was happy to get back to my jet-setting Californian life style (ha-my life is about as jet setting as a slug on anti-depressants). In Texas I ate turkey, pie, and TexMex, a real treat since in California I live off ramen noodles & TV dinners. (I'd rather spend my money on DVR, than unnecessary things like FOOD). I spent most of Sunday in airports, playing a never ending game of musical gates and spot the southern women who take being Texans very, very seriously (Hint-look for big hair, big belt buckles, and big jewelry. )

I got into L.A. really late, and the whole town was covered in fog so thick, you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. So I spent the next hour jumping out of my skin, hollering, and declaring to Adam that we were going to die. I'm sure he was wishing he could send me back to Texas. But alas, I think the lug missed me more than he thought he would. We made it home in one piece, and I opened up our front door, and hit something solid. It was Sarah ,who looked up with a "what the fuck, was that necessary" look, before it changed to the, "Oh It's You! The one who gives me more treats than she is supposed to, and spends hours scratching behind my ears" face. She was very excited, probably because she thought Adam had run me off and she was going to be the child from a broken home. (Like I would let him have her.)

To my utter dismay, I woke up yesterday to discover the neighborhood was kicking our asses in the Christmas decoration department. I'm talking about lights, snow globes, and Santas on Harley's. And I'm not talking just about the families, even our Bohemian surfing guy neighbor with the revolving door for girlfriends, went all out. We are kind of hard up for money right now, so while I hope to get a tree, I don't know if we can afford so much as some mistletoe this year. So I plan to put a sign up in the yard that says, "I'm spending Christmas in Wisconsin, where I will have snow, and a real Christmas tree. So have fun stringing lights on your palm trees, suckers."

Living Together

So earlier this month marked the six month anniversary of when I moved in with Adam. And when I made this choice people told me it would be a wild ride, and I would learn a ton about myself in the process. That was all too true, like I learned what morals and ideas I will not compromise on. Like no matter what the price I can not use CHEAP toliet paper. Cheap toliet paper is like superman, rough, tough, and doesn't take crap off anyone.

People said it would be hard, and being jobless that was hard. But living with Adam has been deceivingly easy. Except for the time I really wanted a dog, and he looked at me like I had grown two heads. I cried a lot, and he gave in because in my tears there is power. Power to bend his will to my wants. No I'm kidding really, I'm only use this power for good and not evil (mostly). He agreed to get Sarah on the condition that she was fully my responsibility. Even though this made me feel like I was 5, I agreed because I was getting my dog. Soon he fell in love with Sarah, and now he helps me out 50/50. Last night I fed her before he took her out for her evening walk instead of after like usual, and he looked at me with those doe eyes and said, "But now she'll poop twice." And for just a split second I saw what it will be like to have kids with this man.

I'm taking an early flight, by myself, to Texas in the morning to be with my family for Thanksgiving. Where I will eat pie, and more pie. Because this holiday was engineered so Americans had a reason to eat pie. Because the pilgrims knew we would one day need a reason to eat pie, and maybe watch some football. In the past few weeks, Adam has been going on about how he will be like a bachelor again. He will do nothing but play video games all day, not shave, and scratch himself. Ok he didn't say he would scratch himself, but I think that is what all guys do when the girls are gone. But then yesterday he changed his tune. He said I'm really going to miss you being here. And that meant a lot to me. Because I realize now it not so complicated living together, the real problem would be not living together. And now after that cheese ball statement, I want to wish everyone happy holidays. And don't forget to eat lots of pie!

Another Post about That Damn Dog

This is what happens when I wake up way too early, I put my dog in Adam's Packer cheese hat. I love the look on Sarah's face, it as if she is saying, "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

Calisthenics

Since I wrote a entry a few months ago about my traitorous golden retriever, Sarah, who seemingly preferred my fiancé to me, our relationship has grown exponentially (ohhhh big word). I'm not saying that now she loves me more than Adam, but she totally loves me more than Adam. She has even started following me around almost everywhere I go. However sweet this may be, it can be semi-troublesome when I'm trying to mop the floor and she won't budge, or I'm folding the laundry and she makes a bed on top of my warm, clean clothes.

I didn't really notice she was following me around until my mother and grandmother were here a few weeks ago. When I would leave the house and they would stay behind, she would still wait with her nose pressed to the front door until I came home. But the real proof came one night after they had gone to bed, and I had pulled down the Murphy bed which when down blocks off the kitchen entrance. The house is circular and you can get to every room from any room in the house. I went to the bathroom and Sarah wanted to sit outside the bathroom door and wait for me as she often does. She freaked out about not being able to go through the kitchen, so instead she busted noisily through the bedroom door. Successfully waking up everyone in the entire house.

Sarah has several habits that I've come to adore. One of the things she loves to do is to roll over on her back & use the hardwood floor as one giant back scratcher. While doing this she moves her legs as if she is riding a bicycle, and grunts as I imagine an elephant would if it were being pulled through a hole in the fence. This looks like a ton of work, and I wonder if she is really just trying to shed some of those unwanted pounds from her hips and thighs.


Sarah's Backscratching Technique (Patent Pending)

Step One: Use your weight as momentum to hoist yourself onto your back.

Step Two: Take a moment to catch your breathe, because that was hard work.

Step Three: Thrash your legs around like you are on a paddle boat, allowing your owner to take compromising photos of you, that would seriously hurt your campaign if you ever decided to run for president.

Step Four: Collapse immediately from exhaustion, safe with the knowledge that you can do it all over again in just a few hours.
This was all very funny and cute to me, until I found her scratching her back tonight at the dog park, in a BIG PILE OF MUD.

To Prove She Isn't Stuffed

Someone (teasingly) said that the only pictures I had of Sarah were pictures of her sleeping, and that maybe she wasn't a real dog at all. And I'm thinking what is she, Routy from Scrubs? And I know I talk about Sarah all the time, in an almost obsessive matter. But we're one of those childless couples who spend way too much time with their dog. So much time that even she is wondering when we will get a life, and stop saying her name 50 million times a day.

This is the picture I usually take, since she sleeps 21 hours a day. She may sleep this much because she is just so exhausted by all the saying her name, scratching her back, and undying affection we give her. It truly is a hard knock life.
The first picture that proves she is alive. The bone in the back is one of the many we have around the house. She loves these things, and goes through one every few days. We supply her with her drug of choice, just to keep those AWFUL dog breath demons away
With a face only a mother could love. JUST KIDDING. Who couldn't love a face like that? So sweet, so huggable, so fluffy. She is reminding me of the dog from those Beggin' Strip Commercials. I SMELL BACON! Not that we would ever feed her bacon....*cough*

The second you stop petting her she will slap you with her paw as to say,"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese don't stop or else." But when her nails get a little long this can be a little painful. So I am stopping her with my GIGANTIC hand. And I only realized how big my hand was when I saw this picture. But you know what people say about people with big hands? They wear BIG GLOVES.
P.S.-I promise no more about Sarah for at least a day!

I Do Get To The Point....Eventually

As long as I can remember I've always been somewhat preoccupied with the fear of my house being broken into. This scares me even more than those evil, manipulative napkins. And I know people always say everything gets blame on the MOTHER, but I’d like to believe this fear actually is my mother's fault. This is because when I was a child we would often watch Unsolved Mysteries together before going to bed. I became convinced that the kidnappers, robbers, & murderers on the show were watching me as I watched the show, and were going to take their revenge on me as soon as I laid down. And it didn't help that the tree outside my window put a shadow on my wall that looked like a gigantic hand! I slept on the floor in my mother's room for many years, though she doesn't seem to have much recollection of any of this. Selective memory, I say.

Flash forward ten years, now I am an unemployed, adult who stays up until 4 AM every night err morning. I'm living in one of the busiest places in the United States, and I always hear a few noises every night that make my heart leap out of my chest & have me reaching for something to club the culprit with (high heel shoes, anyone). Honestly, I really have fewer reasons to worry about burglars now that I am living with a dog the size of a small pony, Sarah.
I know she doesn't look very intimidating in this picture that was snapped right after she had been groomed. And believe me when I picked her up last Saturday, I couldn't help but drive her crazy by singing, "I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty, & witty, & bright.” (Which she told me was far less annoying than that day I kept telling her that I was so hungry, I could eat her whole in one bite). But the truth is Sarah would totally take someone's leg off if the situation called for it.
So far there has been nothing weird about my new neighborhood, other than the meat stealing man, that has validated any of my fears. That is until Saturday morning when I was lounging in the bedroom watching TV, and Adam was in the living room playing Grand Theft Auto IV. I heard glass shattering, and for a split second I thought maybe it was on Adam's game. And then I wondered if he had broken one of the glass panels on the front door, just like I accidentally did last week (whoops). The exact moment that I had gotten out the phrase, "Was that on the Game?" I saw a man running through our fenced in backyard...
Adam didn't believe me; he thought it was my overactive imagination. At that moment, I wanted to use my overactive imagination to shove my foot up his ass. I knew what I had seen. "But the gate is LOCKED," he said. But there was no denying that we both had heard the shattering glass. So he went outside to investigate, while I stayed inside freaking the eff out. Adam came in and gave me a look that said, "You Wont Believe What Happened," and "I'm About to Have to Admit That You Were Right and That Pains Me."
Apparently a man who was visiting a friend, who lives in the apartments behind our house, had a tiny bit of a screw loose. He got paranoid, jumped out the second story window, plunged 20 feet into our backyard, took off running, and then launched himself over our fence! We even had the massive amount of broken glass in our backyard to prove it.
My whole life I have been worried about burglars coming in the middle of the night. When what I really needed to be worried about was men jumping out of second story windows in the middle of the day.

Shake, Rattle, & Roll (All Pun Intended)

When I heard Sarah nudge open the bedroom door yesterday morning, I froze and willed myself not to move. If I budged she would know I was awake and she would lick my feet, and will me to do what she wanted. I had to giggle, blowing my cover, when Sarah let out an exasperated sigh and plopped her 100 lb body down ever so loudly on the floor. Sometimes she acts just like an angsty teenage girl. You should have seen her pout when I wrestled a rotting, stinky, gross, carnival sized pickle she found on a recent walk away from her.

But I did finally get up, and we went on our morning walk. And on this walk there just happened to be an earthquake. That I DID NOT notice. I was blasting my IPOD and wrangling the dog, and never felt the quake that stretched from Vegas to Mexico. I only took a moment to ponder why the school I was passing by was evacuating. I found it odd that I had so many missed calls when I got back to the house. I was confused as to why I was suddenly not getting any cell service. But none of these things were even a blip on my radar.

But Adam had felt the earthquake; he works in a skyscraper that shook for several seconds. And God bless him when he didn't get a hold of me he was understandably worried. He rushed home on his lunch break, fully expecting to see me trapped under a bookcase reenacting a scene from one of those "Help! I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!" commercials.

I think he was slightly disappointed to find me safe on the couch zoning out in front of reruns of Beverly Hills 90210 (Why did Tori Spelling ever thing red hair was a good idea?) He wasn't disappointed because he wanted me to be hurt (at least I hope he didn't want me to be hurt), more like he was disappointed that he didn't have a white knight type story to take back to his coworkers. But I told him he could tell his friends whatever he wanted to, because that’s just what kind of girl I am.

So, of course, I've gotten many phone calls from my friends and family back home who ask me what it was like. And I have nothing to say, no stories tell, except for quips about my obvious lack of perception.