I've become increasingly concerned the GPS on my cell phone is in cahoots with the oil companies. Perhaps Mr. Cell Phone is more concerned with storing my pictures of Mondo, arbitrarily draining my battery, and spell-checking my Scrabble words than it is with assisting me with arriving safely and quickly at my destination.
Up until now, my GPS has been tasked with locating bars and always knowing the address and directions to my rental property's office so I can pay the rent. The office is in a weird little pocket of Southeast Portland that, from what I can tell, is populated by burrito joints and meth houses. If I don't ask for help, I get lost every time.
My last few searches on GPS have directed me in routes that empty my gas tank. And gas is expensive, yo! I've taken roads that lead to no where and driven for miles only to realize I could have done a better job guessing the route. Clearly the oil companies and GPS are in cahoots.
About a week ago, Mondo had what I will refer to as the Incident. I found him seemingly non-responsive and dehydrated. Some where during the day, he apparently hurt his ribs and belly and went into shock. I immediately took him to the vet. When I jumped in the car, I searched the GPS for the address, a clinic on Woodstock.
I immediately knew my GPS was bananas. Even though I was hysterical, in what will hence forth referred to Crying Incident #1 of 2 (there will be a second one, sometime in the next 9 months. Just like the gestation of a baby, it will be a waiting game to see when Crying Incident # 2 appears) BUT! there was no way I was going to take a terrible turn to get on Powell, then to go down 82nd to Woodstock. Crying or no crying, GPS could suck it. Instead I started down Holgate to get to Woodstock, a much more direct route.
The second GPS incident occurred on Sunday night when BF and I were trying to get to JAO's Oscar party in Lake Oswego. I've been to JAO's house a few times, but I always seem to drive there from a different route. BF and I were hauling butt up the hill towards the house when we decided we were going the wrong way. I pulled over to look up the address in GPS. The directions took us in a completely different way and in fact drove us in a big loop, past the turn we should have taken, and back down the hill where we came from, only to direct us up the hill on a parallel street, again passing a place we had just been, before finally putting us on the right street. We were flabbergasted, especially since we had originally been headed in the right direction.
Yesterday, while running errands, I inexplicably had a burning desire for a Chipotle burrito. I live in a neighborhood populated by pho and dim sum joints so I knew it would be a little drive. I asked the GPS to find the nearest one and it directed me towards Clackamas. Not exactly where I wanted to go, but oh well. I drive down to Clackamas and past the address, according to GPS, without seeing Chipotle or even a shopping center. In fact, upon closer inspection, the route abruptly ended in the middle of an intersection.
Just as I was about to give up (perhaps my GPS is in cahoots with Jillian Michaels, too), I realized I knew exactly where Chipotle is. The Clackamas Town Center. Sorry Jillian, sorry Big Oil. I ate a burrito.
Because of the aforementioned Incident, Mondo had to be on a bland diet for four days so that he could rest his belly. and to make sure he could correctly move his bowels.
Is it gross that I mentioned bowels two sentences away from burrito or just appropriate?
I fed Mondo boiled chicken and pumpkin filling for a few days. He came to love it so much that now he thinks anytime I am standing near the stove or handle pots and pans, I must be cooking for him. He is really disappointed when I empty and fill the dishwasher.
After reading a lot of articles and recipes, I've decided to feed him natural food for a while to see if that helps his digestion. He's always had a weird tummy. I think that chicken poop incident at Christmas probably ruined him forever. In another week, I will gradually add back dry dog food until he is just on dry food.
But for now, every time I put his bowl on the ground, and he takes an initial bite and then looks at me, I imagine he is saying "it needs more salt."
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Things I've Learned Since Moving
A little over two weeks ago I moved into a new house with MK and AM. This is what I've learned so far.
1. Mondo and Seeley really are in love. They are so in love that I fear for their separation. Last night I asked AM, "Do you think that before Seeley and Mondo met they would dream about one day meeting a dog and falling in love and then suddenly here they are, in love?" and I followed that up with a "You complete me, Seeley." I admit to being a bit of a weirdo.
2. Walks are great. They are awesome from sunup to sundown. They are great, though a little cold, from sundown to 10pm. Once you go out after 10pm, you run the risk of finding people having sex in the park.
3. Don't leave anything valuable in the car. Finding your broken car window at 9am is not much fun (not my car, MK's). We thought the thief got away with just a charger for the GPS unit and a pack of cigarettes, but then yesterday afternoon I was walking Mondo and two blocks from home I found two bags I recognized from the car. The thief dumped them when he/she realized little boy's underwear and dog park toys probably wouldn't catch a good rate on the streets.
4. Add ten minutes to my previous driving time estimates. However, if there is a ton of terrible traffic, don't go at all. On Friday I sat in traffic for two hours. Two freaking hours. On the plus side, I listened to the Black Keys album twice and played some awesome Scrabble words. Don't high-horse me about cell phone use while driving. If you have not moved in five minutes, you are really just parked.
5. I live in the Foster-Powell neighborhood. I don't really know what this means, yet, but there is a library just down the street and a park at the end of the block.
6. Though it was one of the selling points of moving, I'm finding that having a backyard is awesome. Mondo gets to pose for super cute pictures and I get to sit outside and drink my coffee while he does his business.
7. Sharing a house with a 3 year-old is a learning experience for both Mondo and I. Wiener (the turtle) is adjusted, though I think I am a bad owner that I did not notice IK (said 3 year old) put Mondo's toy frog in the turtle tank. I am positive that Wiener cuddled with said frog for a day or so before I realized what was going on. In fact, when I changed the turtle's water one morning, he was laying on top of the frog.
8. I've figured out how to get more sleep and to manage my time. Because there is more space and because I am by and large not responsible for the majority of the day to day operations of this house, I find that I have a lot less stress. It has been so easy to spend the morning drinking coffee and reading and then crafting or writing in the afternoon. I can't explain the difference, but I'm doing the things I wanted to be doing on unemployment. I set up a crafting and painting spot in the garage. I'm writing more. A weight has been lifted. I am not worried about money (as much), I'm keeping organized (for the most part), and Mondo is pretty happy (hello Seeley). I do miss living with AA, but I also think, because we have similar personalities and we are both unemployed, it is easy for us to feed off each other's dark thoughts and there was no motivation to be productive.
9. I don't need soda! I didn't really learn this in the past two weeks, but I have not been keeping soda in the house and therefore am not drinking it. Yay.
(I posted a followup to the bully blog. click here to read the post.)
1. Mondo and Seeley really are in love. They are so in love that I fear for their separation. Last night I asked AM, "Do you think that before Seeley and Mondo met they would dream about one day meeting a dog and falling in love and then suddenly here they are, in love?" and I followed that up with a "You complete me, Seeley." I admit to being a bit of a weirdo.
2. Walks are great. They are awesome from sunup to sundown. They are great, though a little cold, from sundown to 10pm. Once you go out after 10pm, you run the risk of finding people having sex in the park.
3. Don't leave anything valuable in the car. Finding your broken car window at 9am is not much fun (not my car, MK's). We thought the thief got away with just a charger for the GPS unit and a pack of cigarettes, but then yesterday afternoon I was walking Mondo and two blocks from home I found two bags I recognized from the car. The thief dumped them when he/she realized little boy's underwear and dog park toys probably wouldn't catch a good rate on the streets.
4. Add ten minutes to my previous driving time estimates. However, if there is a ton of terrible traffic, don't go at all. On Friday I sat in traffic for two hours. Two freaking hours. On the plus side, I listened to the Black Keys album twice and played some awesome Scrabble words. Don't high-horse me about cell phone use while driving. If you have not moved in five minutes, you are really just parked.
5. I live in the Foster-Powell neighborhood. I don't really know what this means, yet, but there is a library just down the street and a park at the end of the block.
6. Though it was one of the selling points of moving, I'm finding that having a backyard is awesome. Mondo gets to pose for super cute pictures and I get to sit outside and drink my coffee while he does his business.
7. Sharing a house with a 3 year-old is a learning experience for both Mondo and I. Wiener (the turtle) is adjusted, though I think I am a bad owner that I did not notice IK (said 3 year old) put Mondo's toy frog in the turtle tank. I am positive that Wiener cuddled with said frog for a day or so before I realized what was going on. In fact, when I changed the turtle's water one morning, he was laying on top of the frog.
8. I've figured out how to get more sleep and to manage my time. Because there is more space and because I am by and large not responsible for the majority of the day to day operations of this house, I find that I have a lot less stress. It has been so easy to spend the morning drinking coffee and reading and then crafting or writing in the afternoon. I can't explain the difference, but I'm doing the things I wanted to be doing on unemployment. I set up a crafting and painting spot in the garage. I'm writing more. A weight has been lifted. I am not worried about money (as much), I'm keeping organized (for the most part), and Mondo is pretty happy (hello Seeley). I do miss living with AA, but I also think, because we have similar personalities and we are both unemployed, it is easy for us to feed off each other's dark thoughts and there was no motivation to be productive.
9. I don't need soda! I didn't really learn this in the past two weeks, but I have not been keeping soda in the house and therefore am not drinking it. Yay.
(I posted a followup to the bully blog. click here to read the post.)
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose: A follow-up to Don't Be Mean.
Thank you to all the sweet people who commented and messaged me about my previous post. Strangely enough, I had a nice childhood. I remember the majority of it fondly. My blog post was a snapshot of a two year period, such a small part of an otherwise fine time in my life.
There was this two year period when we had transfered from our small country school, Lone Rock Elementary, in to town to the junior high. Those two years were the worst.
By the time I made it to highschool, I had a better perspective and stopped paying attention to their comments. I had my safety net and my group of friends to support me. Plus, I was too busy being a total theater/speech/debate geek. That is a pretty insular and protective world, even for small-town Montana.
Being bullied and picked on is not an experience that is uniquely my own. Even people I went to school with responded with tales of their own, and their bully was not even someone on my radar.
I feel sad for the people who can remember being bullied, but I feel worse for the people I know and love that remember they were the bully.
There was this two year period when we had transfered from our small country school, Lone Rock Elementary, in to town to the junior high. Those two years were the worst.
By the time I made it to highschool, I had a better perspective and stopped paying attention to their comments. I had my safety net and my group of friends to support me. Plus, I was too busy being a total theater/speech/debate geek. That is a pretty insular and protective world, even for small-town Montana.
Being bullied and picked on is not an experience that is uniquely my own. Even people I went to school with responded with tales of their own, and their bully was not even someone on my radar.
I feel sad for the people who can remember being bullied, but I feel worse for the people I know and love that remember they were the bully.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
And on a serious note. No, seriously. Don't be mean.
When I was in eighth grade, one day in art class, I remember getting up to sharpen my pencil and hearing some snickering. I looked around and I saw a group of kids giggling. They were the popular kids.
We were drawing still-lifes and the teacher had assembled a jumble of branches, vases, and antlers on a table in the center of the room.
As I walked back to the table to sit down I had a small panic attack that maybe I had started my period but didn't know. Isn't it funny that as young teens girls, our biggest fear is that someone will know we are on our period?
I sat back down at the table and the giggling continued. I finally approached the teacher and asked to use the bathroom. As soon as I got to the girl's room, thankfully empty, I was relieved to see that everything was fine. Even my hair looked good (This was shortly before I cut my bangs to look like Janeane Garofalo's as seen in Reality Bites). I was wearing my favorite flannel shirt, it was after all the height of Seattle grunge chic. My love for Kurt Cobain was in its early stages.
I returned to the classroom to find everyone cleaning up so I put the whole incident out of my mind and decided I was paranoid. But the rest of the day, and as I moved through the halls during breaks, I could feel people staring at my back, and when I turned it always seemed to be some of the group from art class in the vicinity.
Later that night as I got undressed, I realized that someone had written on my shirt.
I could only think of one moment when I had taken it off, in art class, so I wouldn't get charcoal on the sleeves.
Written in small blue ink, in the squares of the plaid, were the words SLUT, FAT, DUMB, BITCH.
From the distance of age and time, I can laugh as I think of these stupid kids writing such mean and untrue insults. Well perhaps FAT.
But SLUT? Come on. Not only was I still riding the Virgin Express, but my interest in boys didn't move past maybe we can hold hands.
DUMB? Never a day in my life.
BITCH? Maybe now, but in junior high I was anything but mean. I was a nice girl who just wanted to be friends with everyone.
But that night, as I hid the flannel shirt in the garbage can, I was convinced it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I was a nerdy kid. I read all the time. My mom had cancer. I spent two years of my life convinced she was going to die any minute. We didn't have any money. I shopped at K-Mart. I followed in the footsteps of two older brothers, one a sports star and one a well-liked rebel.
This was not the first bullying I was the brunt of, and certainly not the last, but it is a memorable event in that it was one of the first times I remember consciously deciding to keep it a secret.
Last night I had a conversation with a friend who admitted to bullying when she was younger. She said "I'm sure the girl doesn't remember it." And I got really angry. I said "Fuck you. She for sure remembers it, even if she says she doesn't."
Do you know how old I was when this happened? 14
How old am I now? 31
Is it the worst thing to happen to me? No
In fact, when I think back to that time in my life, I'm glad I got bullied because I think in the long run it made me a better person. But I'm also a strong enough and rational enough person to make it through.
But never in my life would I ever want a person to go through the same thing.
On a serious note, don't be mean.
We were drawing still-lifes and the teacher had assembled a jumble of branches, vases, and antlers on a table in the center of the room.
As I walked back to the table to sit down I had a small panic attack that maybe I had started my period but didn't know. Isn't it funny that as young teens girls, our biggest fear is that someone will know we are on our period?
I sat back down at the table and the giggling continued. I finally approached the teacher and asked to use the bathroom. As soon as I got to the girl's room, thankfully empty, I was relieved to see that everything was fine. Even my hair looked good (This was shortly before I cut my bangs to look like Janeane Garofalo's as seen in Reality Bites). I was wearing my favorite flannel shirt, it was after all the height of Seattle grunge chic. My love for Kurt Cobain was in its early stages.
I returned to the classroom to find everyone cleaning up so I put the whole incident out of my mind and decided I was paranoid. But the rest of the day, and as I moved through the halls during breaks, I could feel people staring at my back, and when I turned it always seemed to be some of the group from art class in the vicinity.
Later that night as I got undressed, I realized that someone had written on my shirt.
I could only think of one moment when I had taken it off, in art class, so I wouldn't get charcoal on the sleeves.
Written in small blue ink, in the squares of the plaid, were the words SLUT, FAT, DUMB, BITCH.
From the distance of age and time, I can laugh as I think of these stupid kids writing such mean and untrue insults. Well perhaps FAT.
But SLUT? Come on. Not only was I still riding the Virgin Express, but my interest in boys didn't move past maybe we can hold hands.
DUMB? Never a day in my life.
BITCH? Maybe now, but in junior high I was anything but mean. I was a nice girl who just wanted to be friends with everyone.
But that night, as I hid the flannel shirt in the garbage can, I was convinced it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I was a nerdy kid. I read all the time. My mom had cancer. I spent two years of my life convinced she was going to die any minute. We didn't have any money. I shopped at K-Mart. I followed in the footsteps of two older brothers, one a sports star and one a well-liked rebel.
This was not the first bullying I was the brunt of, and certainly not the last, but it is a memorable event in that it was one of the first times I remember consciously deciding to keep it a secret.
Last night I had a conversation with a friend who admitted to bullying when she was younger. She said "I'm sure the girl doesn't remember it." And I got really angry. I said "Fuck you. She for sure remembers it, even if she says she doesn't."
Do you know how old I was when this happened? 14
How old am I now? 31
Is it the worst thing to happen to me? No
In fact, when I think back to that time in my life, I'm glad I got bullied because I think in the long run it made me a better person. But I'm also a strong enough and rational enough person to make it through.
But never in my life would I ever want a person to go through the same thing.
On a serious note, don't be mean.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
A blog to prove to you that not all of my interactions with children are unpleasant.
A well known fact about Bry, kids are not my forte.
Sometimes when I look at kids, especially if they are annoying me, I can feel all of my reproductive organs shrivel up and freeze. I'm continually amazed by my friends that want to have children, as much as they are amazed at my disinterest in having children.
This is not to say I don't like children, so don't write me an angry letter or unfriend me from Facebook. I actually love most children but hate their parents. So write me an angry letter about being a parent-hater. Thusly, if I like you, I like your kids.
I like babies. I like to hold them and then give them back to their parents.
I like talking to kids. But I like giving them back when it is time for the feeding and doctoring.
I like it when kids say outrageously funny things. I do not like it when they cry.
Today I took IK to his daycare for a Valentine's Day Party. He goes to the Y a few days a week and I watch him on Tuesdays.
As soon as we walked into the room, I was surrounded by 20 noisy kids. Several of them had runny noses and I couldn't help staring at their snotty faces and imagining the germs lurking in the rivers of snot rolling down their faces.
Obama should just take a picture of one million snot-nosed kids and send it to all the Republicans in Congress and say "As soon as you wipe these one million snotty faces using nothing but your bare hands, then we will talk about your birth control phobia."
While the kids were eating their special V-Day snack, one of the kids gave me a physics lesson.
This kid is three, mind you.
"Hey, you! What's your name?"he asks.
"Bry."
"Look." He picks up a blueberry and drops it from a height of about two feet.
"That's gravity."
"You're right, it is gravity," I say.
"What goes up must come down."
"What if it doesn't come down?" I ask.
"Everything comes down. That's gravity."
I can't help but wonder if this is his little kid pickup line. Like a "the human brain weighs 8 pounds" for 2012.
Earlier today, as we were dressing for the party, IK asked what Valentine's Day is all about.
"What does Valentine's Day mean?" he asked.
"It is a day every year when you tell everyone you love how much you love them. And sometimes you give your mommy, or friends, or boyfriend or girlfriend flowers and candy."
"Can we get Casius some candy because he is my boyfriend."
After the party, IK and I sat on the couch and read all of his Valentines from his friends.
"This one is from Alaska."
"She gave me a Valentine because she loves me and I love her."
IK has a lot of love to spread.
"Can we go to the lego museum?" he asked.
"The lego display isn't at the museum any more. It went to a new museum in another town."
"Oh. Then can we go to the book museum?"
"Do you mean the library?" I asked.
"Yes. I like the book museum."
Sometimes when I look at kids, especially if they are annoying me, I can feel all of my reproductive organs shrivel up and freeze. I'm continually amazed by my friends that want to have children, as much as they are amazed at my disinterest in having children.
This is not to say I don't like children, so don't write me an angry letter or unfriend me from Facebook. I actually love most children but hate their parents. So write me an angry letter about being a parent-hater. Thusly, if I like you, I like your kids.
I like babies. I like to hold them and then give them back to their parents.
I like talking to kids. But I like giving them back when it is time for the feeding and doctoring.
I like it when kids say outrageously funny things. I do not like it when they cry.
Today I took IK to his daycare for a Valentine's Day Party. He goes to the Y a few days a week and I watch him on Tuesdays.
As soon as we walked into the room, I was surrounded by 20 noisy kids. Several of them had runny noses and I couldn't help staring at their snotty faces and imagining the germs lurking in the rivers of snot rolling down their faces.
Obama should just take a picture of one million snot-nosed kids and send it to all the Republicans in Congress and say "As soon as you wipe these one million snotty faces using nothing but your bare hands, then we will talk about your birth control phobia."
While the kids were eating their special V-Day snack, one of the kids gave me a physics lesson.
This kid is three, mind you.
"Hey, you! What's your name?"he asks.
"Bry."
"Look." He picks up a blueberry and drops it from a height of about two feet.
"That's gravity."
"You're right, it is gravity," I say.
"What goes up must come down."
"What if it doesn't come down?" I ask.
"Everything comes down. That's gravity."
I can't help but wonder if this is his little kid pickup line. Like a "the human brain weighs 8 pounds" for 2012.
Earlier today, as we were dressing for the party, IK asked what Valentine's Day is all about.
"What does Valentine's Day mean?" he asked.
"It is a day every year when you tell everyone you love how much you love them. And sometimes you give your mommy, or friends, or boyfriend or girlfriend flowers and candy."
"Can we get Casius some candy because he is my boyfriend."
After the party, IK and I sat on the couch and read all of his Valentines from his friends.
"This one is from Alaska."
"She gave me a Valentine because she loves me and I love her."
IK has a lot of love to spread.
"Can we go to the lego museum?" he asked.
"The lego display isn't at the museum any more. It went to a new museum in another town."
"Oh. Then can we go to the book museum?"
"Do you mean the library?" I asked.
"Yes. I like the book museum."
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Things I am Eminently Qualified to Do: What My Resume Won't Tell You
What my resume WILL tell you:
my name, address and phone number.
a series of jobs I've held
my education
my references (upon request)
What my resume WILL NOT tell you:
I got skillz. mad skillz.
prolific reader
scrabble lover
bingo caller
mediocre knitter
postmortem care giver
pig groomer
aebleskiver chef
walker
lover of Jane Austen
laugher
not-a-crier
gut buster
driver
daughter
friend
babysitter
beach comber
organizer
patriot
spreadsheet whore
amateur detective
bossy-pants-in-chief
creative crafter
dog walker
Yes I have awesome computer and customer service skills. I can supervise. I can project lead.
But more importantly....
I will always have a book recommendation.
I'm a celebrity news hound.
I will set up a Pandora station that will knock your socks off.
I will organize office parties.
I will gladly happy hour.
I will be your Barney Stinson.
I will bake you brownies and brew you coffee.
I have the world's cutest dog.
I can make a diorama out of rulers and paperclips.
I can dance a jig, cook a fig and light your cig.
Oh please, please, I want to find a fun job that let's me be me.
my name, address and phone number.
a series of jobs I've held
my education
my references (upon request)
What my resume WILL NOT tell you:
I got skillz. mad skillz.
prolific reader
scrabble lover
bingo caller
mediocre knitter
postmortem care giver
pig groomer
aebleskiver chef
walker
lover of Jane Austen
laugher
not-a-crier
gut buster
driver
daughter
friend
babysitter
beach comber
organizer
patriot
spreadsheet whore
amateur detective
bossy-pants-in-chief
creative crafter
dog walker
Yes I have awesome computer and customer service skills. I can supervise. I can project lead.
But more importantly....
I will always have a book recommendation.
I'm a celebrity news hound.
I will set up a Pandora station that will knock your socks off.
I will organize office parties.
I will gladly happy hour.
I will be your Barney Stinson.
I will bake you brownies and brew you coffee.
I have the world's cutest dog.
I can make a diorama out of rulers and paperclips.
I can dance a jig, cook a fig and light your cig.
Oh please, please, I want to find a fun job that let's me be me.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Reflections and Ruminations of the Daily Life of Bryanne R. Hoeg
This morning I woke up very groggy and thought, very briefly, that my toes were extra hairy as of late and perhaps I should do something to change that. And then, as I was dismissing the idea of doing anything about it today, as i would clearly be too busy doing nothing, I realized it was my dog inching his way slowly out from under the blankets, probably to go in search of his best friend and probable girlfriend Seeley. Or food. Or Seeley and food.
I say probable because at 5 months Mondo is too young to have a girlfriend. They are at that stage in life where they can say they are girlfriend and boyfriend but that just means they sit next to each other at lunch. Which reminds me that I keep meaning to tell Seeley to stop sticking her tongue in Mondo's mouth.
Seeley is a dog, too. Thank god. I don't want Mondo kissing humans. That's gross.
I'd like to tell you a lot of really cool things have happened as of late, but I'm sort of just treading water. My life is really just moments of reading and coffee interspersed with sleep and seeing friends. I've sort of retired from life at the moment. I don't mean that in a turn-your-head-to-the-side-look-concerned-and-say-are-you-okay sort of way. It's not a sad thing. I'm having fun. I'm a lady that lunches. A lady that happy hours. A lady that bowls on Friday nights. A lady that goes to trivia in pubs.
It's just that I've put all the messy parts of life in a big pot and boiled it down to a reduced gravy that I'm currently marinating in. It's quite tasty, but not substantial.
For example, I now have a lot of extra time on my hands that I can dedicate to the following useless endeavors:
1. parsing online scrabble words for tone and hidden meaning.
2. organizing dog toys by size.
3. reading Fox News articles so that I have a reason to be outraged about something.
4. drawing pictures of baby chickens as celebrities.
5. writing love letters to trees.
See. I told you I was having fun.
And now, if you will excuse me, I need to go to the post office to apologize for my dog being an a-hole. More on that another time.
I say probable because at 5 months Mondo is too young to have a girlfriend. They are at that stage in life where they can say they are girlfriend and boyfriend but that just means they sit next to each other at lunch. Which reminds me that I keep meaning to tell Seeley to stop sticking her tongue in Mondo's mouth.
Seeley is a dog, too. Thank god. I don't want Mondo kissing humans. That's gross.
I'd like to tell you a lot of really cool things have happened as of late, but I'm sort of just treading water. My life is really just moments of reading and coffee interspersed with sleep and seeing friends. I've sort of retired from life at the moment. I don't mean that in a turn-your-head-to-the-side-look-concerned-and-say-are-you-okay sort of way. It's not a sad thing. I'm having fun. I'm a lady that lunches. A lady that happy hours. A lady that bowls on Friday nights. A lady that goes to trivia in pubs.
It's just that I've put all the messy parts of life in a big pot and boiled it down to a reduced gravy that I'm currently marinating in. It's quite tasty, but not substantial.
For example, I now have a lot of extra time on my hands that I can dedicate to the following useless endeavors:
1. parsing online scrabble words for tone and hidden meaning.
2. organizing dog toys by size.
3. reading Fox News articles so that I have a reason to be outraged about something.
4. drawing pictures of baby chickens as celebrities.
5. writing love letters to trees.
See. I told you I was having fun.
And now, if you will excuse me, I need to go to the post office to apologize for my dog being an a-hole. More on that another time.
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