When I first got engaged, I spent months scouring bridal magazines for the perfect dress. I had absolutely no idea what a sweetheart neckline was or how taffeta was different from satin. I was doomed.
In my quest for the dress, I discovered what I thought was 'the one' online. It was an ivory strapless gown with minimal foof and a small silk flower at the waist. I envisioned myself walking down the aisle in this dress. Kissing my husband in this dress. Dancing with my Father in this dress. Twirling in this dress. It was perfect.
The first time I went to the bridal store, I chose this dress along with others to try on. I wanted to twirl in this dress. I knew it was perfect. When I tried it on, my dress dreams were shattered. The dress the sales lady pulled was not the right size. It was too small. It didn't zip. It didn't fit. I couldn't get a feel for the dress. My dress. The sales lady was too shy to get the dress in a bigger size so I could see how it might actually fit. I was too embarrassed to fight for the dress. My dress.
My self esteem crushed, I gave up. I wanted to feel beautiful and she made me feel hideous. Ugly. Fat. To end the misery, I chose a lesser dress. It was...meh. But, it was closer to my actual size and it didn't look too bad. I was too traumatized and humiliated to keep looking lest I be reminded of my hideousness. My ugliness. My fatness.
The dress hung in my closet until the day of my first fitting. Occasionally, I would unzip the garment bag and peek at it, trying to come to terms with the fact that this was my wedding gown. This was what I would be wearing on the day I vowed to spend forever with the man I loved.
Occasionally, I would wear the dress and twirl in front of the mirror. Trying to envision myself walking down the aisle in this dress. Kissing my husband in this dress. Dancing with my Father in this dress. Trying to make it feel perfect.
My family at the time consisted of myself, my future husband and our elderly Siberian Husky, Skye. She had been diagnosed with a urinary tract infection on a Friday, two days before I was to have my first fitting in the dress. When Sunday came around, Skye was sick. We attributed it to the infection. Thought it was something that would pass. I rescheduled my fitting to tend to her. Monday would be the day I would tend to the dress.
Sunday night was awful. Skye was up all night, pacing the house and experiencing what seemed to be neurological issues. I was heartbroken, exhausted and afraid. Monday morning, the vet told us this may be the end for our girl. We spent the day trying to keep her comfortable and hoping it was all still attributed to the infection. Hoping she would come around. Hoping we wouldn't have to face the end just yet. Wouldn't have to say goodbye.
Monday afternoon, I had a dress fitting to attend. Things seemed to be stable with Skye at that moment, so I decided to keep the appointment. As I left the house, she stopped pacing long enough to look at me as I told her I'd be right back and I loved her. I have never forgotten that last look.
I spent the next hour or so on the pedestal in the back of the bridal store as the Russian seamstress pinned me and spinned me and tried to make small talk. Looking in the mirror, I tried very hard to focus on the dress and how it was going to look on the big day. How beautiful it was going to be. How beautiful I was going to be.
Unfortunately, all I could think about was how I hadn't slept and how I may have to make the most difficult decision of my life thus far. All the pinning and spinning in the world couldn't change what I was about to face.
As she neared the end of the fitting, I could hear my cell phone ringing in my purse. I knew it was either my Mother calling to check on Skye or it was my future husband calling to tell me to come home. Telling me that it was time. When it continued to ring again and again, I knew it was my husband. I knew. It was time.
I fought back tears and tried to explain to the Russian seamstress that I had to leave. I tried to explain that it was time. She didn't understand so I hurriedly got out of the dress, shoving the pins back in her hands. I dressed quickly and left, driving home to face what I desperately didn't want to face. What I dreaded to even think about. To say goodbye.
By the time I got home, the dress was long forgotten. The tears flowed as we loaded our sweet Skye girl into the car and carried her to her peaceful end. We kissed her and held her as she left us, knowing she would never leave our hearts.
That was the day I was fitted to the dress. My dress. Each time I put it on after that day, it never felt quite right. It didn't fit right. It seemed heavy. Cumbersome. On the big day, it needed lots of work. There was last minute pinning and adjusting. Throughout the day, there was fidgeting. Pulling. Fixing.
The day was perfect. The dress was...meh.
Two and a half years later, Skye's ashes remain on the bookshelf with her collar. Two new dogs have joined our family. My husband and I are happy and in love. The dress hangs in the closet. Occasionally, I unzip the garment bag and think about the day I was fitted to the dress. The day I became a wife in the dress. My dress. What I should do with the dress.
I still don't know. It just hangs there. Heavy. Cumbersome. Meh.
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Rude awakenings, tight packages and I may just blow your mind.
It was 4:48am when I was rudely awoken from my slumber by the fat dog. He climbed over me, rather clumsily, before jumping to the floor where he proceeded to vomit in the corner.
Well, good morning to you too.
After a rather futile attempt to return to dreamland, where I was involved in some sort of fight for survival with what may have been a Mexican drug cartel, I decided to feed the dogs early and watch tv.
Although the infomercial for Hip Hop Abs was rather intriguing, I settled on VH1 and music videos from the 80s.
Awesome!
What better way to spend a Sunday morning than reliving the most fashionable era in American history via dramatic video interpretation of equally dramatic songs?
Again, I say...awesome!
Do you know what I miss the most about the 80s? Tight jeans on men.
There are a lot of things to miss about the 80s...the hairstyle androgyny, the neon, the very heavy use of eyeliner. If I had my way, I'd bring them all back.
The first to return would be tight jeans on men. I want nothing left to the imagination. No more pants on the ground and what have you. I want it all out there for everyone to see. When I'm in the grocery store trying to discreetly buy pints of ice cream which I hide under my giant box of bran flakes, I want to look over and see an acid wash denim clad dude letting his lovely teased locks flow as he thrusts his tightly secured package at the frozen waffles.
Too much?
Maybe I need to return to bed. That Mexican drug cartel isn't going to defend itself against the zombies.
I leave you with this.
Roxy Music - More Than This - Video Dailymotion
He's watching his own music video in his own music video! WHAT?!?!?!?!
Well, good morning to you too.
After a rather futile attempt to return to dreamland, where I was involved in some sort of fight for survival with what may have been a Mexican drug cartel, I decided to feed the dogs early and watch tv.
Although the infomercial for Hip Hop Abs was rather intriguing, I settled on VH1 and music videos from the 80s.
Awesome!
What better way to spend a Sunday morning than reliving the most fashionable era in American history via dramatic video interpretation of equally dramatic songs?
Again, I say...awesome!
Do you know what I miss the most about the 80s? Tight jeans on men.
There are a lot of things to miss about the 80s...the hairstyle androgyny, the neon, the very heavy use of eyeliner. If I had my way, I'd bring them all back.
The first to return would be tight jeans on men. I want nothing left to the imagination. No more pants on the ground and what have you. I want it all out there for everyone to see. When I'm in the grocery store trying to discreetly buy pints of ice cream which I hide under my giant box of bran flakes, I want to look over and see an acid wash denim clad dude letting his lovely teased locks flow as he thrusts his tightly secured package at the frozen waffles.
Too much?
Maybe I need to return to bed. That Mexican drug cartel isn't going to defend itself against the zombies.
I leave you with this.
Roxy Music - More Than This - Video Dailymotion
He's watching his own music video in his own music video! WHAT?!?!?!?!
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
What is that smell? Did something die in here?
Do you have any idea how much the hoof of an antelope stinks?
It's like a combination of feet (duh), armpits and rotten eggs. Throw in a little expired milk (the lumpy kind of expired) and you've got it.
As a little girl, dreaming about my future life, I never once imagined that I would be able to describe the stench of an antelope hoof. It just wasn't in the script for the Barbie dolls in my playhouse.
They were chatting about dream husbands and bubble baths while eating bon bons and petting their cuddly puppies.
Yeah. My view of the future was a little warped.
I have the cuddly puppy thing right. Bubble baths? Not so much. There's too much hair in my drain.
So, anyway...antelope hooves.
You see, I am now the proud parent of two cuddly puppies. My little man, Atticus...
It's like a combination of feet (duh), armpits and rotten eggs. Throw in a little expired milk (the lumpy kind of expired) and you've got it.
As a little girl, dreaming about my future life, I never once imagined that I would be able to describe the stench of an antelope hoof. It just wasn't in the script for the Barbie dolls in my playhouse.
They were chatting about dream husbands and bubble baths while eating bon bons and petting their cuddly puppies.
Yeah. My view of the future was a little warped.
I have the cuddly puppy thing right. Bubble baths? Not so much. There's too much hair in my drain.
So, anyway...antelope hooves.
You see, I am now the proud parent of two cuddly puppies. My little man, Atticus...
And my new little girl, Moxxi...
Double the adorable. Double the trouble. Double the destruction.
These little lovebugs are chewers! In order to satisfy their need to gnaw, we decided to try some of the more exotic chew toys at the pet store. Pig snouts, cow tracheas, antlers...the good stuff.
Since I am super cheap, I went for the least expensive of the exotics. The hooves. For just $1.99, you can be the proud owner of your very own antelope hoof. If you would like to part with a few more dollars, you can get that antelope hoof stuffed with meat.
I don't think it's antelope meat.
These stinky feet are a big hit with my hounds. They absolutely love them. Of course, my Atticus still eats poop. He may not have the most refined taste buds.
They can spend all day gnawing on their hooves, which is a good thing. The down side is the resulting stench that emanates from their little faces. Even worse is the inevitable stench that emanates from their little butts.
Hooves? Full of swamp gas.
Who knew?
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Happy Belated Birthday Atticus.
One year ago last week, this fat little bastard entered the world.
Yes, I'm kinda late in posting this. Stop with the judging please.
My little Atticus.
The first time I met him, he was just a little ball of fat and fluff.
He was the biggest puppy in the litter and he was just sitting in the corner of the pen, not making a peep, watching all his litter mates vie for attention.
I picked him up and he just lay on my chest.
He looked around, but never made a sound. His wet, little nose reached up a few times to give me a kiss. He let me hold him, never trying to get down or wriggle away.
He was content right where he lay.
I said I wanted him. The one they called Goliath.
We were supposed to pick him up a couple weeks after we returned home from our honeymoon. He would've been 8 weeks then.
Instead, we picked him up the day after we returned home from our honeymoon.
There were rumors that the puppies weren't being fed and hadn't had their shots.
Since MB's cousin was the owner, we had the inside scoop.
MB's aunt, MB's mom and myself went over to feed the dogs and update them on their shots.
We arrived to find them all in one room, covered in poop and pee, with no food or water to be found. Their mother wasn't with them and probably hadn't been nursing them. They were covered in fleas and had actually lost weight.
There was no waiting for Atticus. He came home with me that day.
Those first couple weeks were especially difficult.
Raising a puppy is not easy. When you add the grief over losing a beloved pet not 2 months earlier, the stress of having a brand new roomate, the dismantling of your home following a major kitchen remodel and the waning high of having just gotten married, it becomes even harder.
We were not prepared. Not in the least.
There was a lot of yelling, arguing and crying for the first several months.
Atticus was not an easy puppy to manage. He had (and still has) an appetite for destruction.
It's not his fault though. He's a high energy breed who needs a job.
We were not equipped to provide that at the time. We both work shift work and were not able to provide him the consistency he needed.
It really took it's toll on all of us, especially Atticus.
He fed on our negative energy. Our frustration and anger only fueled his own frustration and anger.
He acted out because he could sense that we were, well...acting out.
The more upset we got, the more upset he got.
We actually had to consider whether we were going to keep Atticus or let him go to another family, who could give him the time and attention we could not.
Things had gotten that bad.
After many tearful conversations, we decided to stick with Atticus. He deserved that.
We signed up for obedience class and agreed to communicate to each other so our stress didn't build up and consume us both.
We actually had to consider whether we were going to keep Atticus or let him go to another family, who could give him the time and attention we could not.
Things had gotten that bad.
After many tearful conversations, we decided to stick with Atticus. He deserved that.
We signed up for obedience class and agreed to communicate to each other so our stress didn't build up and consume us both.
We were able to gain some control over his behavior after going through obedience school and learning about how our moods were affecting him.
We started to see improvement and actually started to enjoy our dog.
However, it's still difficult.
Some people say that raising a puppy is good practice for raising a child.
I believe it.
Don't get your mom jeans in a bunch, Moms.
I'm not diminishing the responsibility of raising a child.
Not at all.
On the contrary, I have a new found respect for moms.
I can totally relate to having a young, fragile creature dependent on you for everything, requiring your constant attention and care.
It's exhausting!
And the poop! Oh God, the poop!
It's actually made me think about my own potential as a mother.
That's a story for a different day though as I'm not quite ready to have that conversation with myself.
For all the stress and mental breakdowns, I still say it's worth it. I love my little Atticus.
He has a lot of learning to do, but he's such a good dog and he's worth the effort.
It's been a hell of a year.
I can only hope for a little less destruction in the coming year.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Missing (possibly eaten): Fat puppy who doesn't come at all when you call so don't bother.
So, I was in my bathroom this morning getting ready for work and I had an eerie feeling.
It was like something was watching me.
I shook it off and continued to tweeze, my face pressed up against the mirror because I am completely blind without my glasses on.
There it was again, that feeling. Something is definitely watching me.
Where is the dog? Usually, it's the dog.
No dog.
What the eff?
Then, I happen to look up at the light. What the hell is that? Is something there?
I put my glasses on to get a better gander.
Holy shit! A spider! A BIG spider!!!
AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!
I flail myself backwards, tweezers flying into the toilet and mouthwash spitting onto the ceiling.
Yes, I multitask in the bathroom.
Especially when I overslept because I had a fat puppy sleeping on my head and now I'm running late for work.
Once I regain my footing and my breath, I carefully move my bras, pajamas, flip flops, underwear and other valuables from under the beast.
Yes, I keep all of these things on my bathroom sink. Have you never had a puppy with a taste for unmentionables?
I also carefully grab my wedding ring from the medicine cabinet. Again, a puppy with a taste for...well, everything.
Then, I decide to go in for a closer look. I like to know what I'm up against before I begin battle.
Not that I'm really going to do battle. Running late and all.
There's no time to attack.
Plus, he's kinda blocking access to my hair spray, the only weapon at hand.
What I'm going to do is get the hell out of the bathroom and let my husband handle this. He'll probably come in and pick up the spider with his bare hands and take it outside to live a full, happy spider life.
Then, he'll go on about how he's some kind of hero.
Then, I won't be able to touch my husband for an indeterminate amount of time.
Sorry, MB's Mom.
No grandchildren anytime soon.
Irriational arachnophobia trumps intimacy everytime.
'You wanna touch me where? With that hand? No way. I know what's been in that hand!"
Ick.
You can't see it in these pictures, but there is a very distinct red coloration on the mouth of the monster. I believe it to be the blood of his last victim.
Wait. Where IS the dog?
Saturday, July 21, 2012
I always wanted a guard dog.
A friend of ours has two dogs, Cassie and Baylen (sp?). They needed a place to camp out because he is going away for the weekend. I agreed to be that place because I can't say no to dogs.
We had a meet and greet on Thursday night. My little devil dog, Atticus got to meet Cassie and Baylen to see if sparks flew or if blood would be drawn.
Turns out it was a little of both. Blood was drawn. My leg got in the way of Atti's desperate scrambling to get outside to check out Cassie and Baylen. Apparently he is due for a nail trim. I look like I got mauled by a badger.
No canine blood was drawn, but not for a lack of trying. Atticus decided his first impression would be all teeth. You know, establishing his turf and all. Men.
There were even some sparks. Apparently Atticus has never seen a girl before and decided to greet her with humps. I guess he has forgotten that he lacks the necessary equipment to follow through with such a gesture. Perhaps I should break out the cone of shame to remind him.
Anyway, I felt like the meet and greet was not so great. Atticus was very into showing his teeth and I predicted a lot of refereeing on my part. Not cool. I do not look good in stripes.
Our friend seemed perfectly content with the arrangement and he brought the dogs back on Friday night to stay for the weekend.
Last night was the first official night with all three dogs in the house. It pretty much went like this...
Cassie and Baylen were in one corner. Atticus was in the other. Anytime they made a move towards me, he lost his shit and kept herding them back to their spot. Away from Mommy.
He probably should've just peed on me. It would have been a much quicker way to establish his turf and I wouldn't have had to yell so much.
Poor Cassie and Baylen. They were so scared, being in a strange place and having just been abandoned by their daddy. All they wanted was a little comfort. Baylen (the tan and white one) kept crying and giving me the pitiful face. Cassie (the white one) kept giving me the pitiful face and trying to snuggle.
Atticus was not having it.
I think you all know that I am a sucker for dogs, especially older dogs. I'm not ashamed to admit that I may have died a little inside because I couldn't love on these sweet, sweet dogs. I may have also had a little ice cream to comfort my dead insides.
Please don't judge me. I'm only human.
Things were fine for awhile. I managed to watch approximately 10 minutes of my recorded episode of Perception without interruption. That was after pausing and rewinding the same 10 minutes repeatedly because I had to stop and break up fights.
I'm actually hoarse from having to use my Pack Leader Domination Voice to get the snarly boys away from each other. This does not bode well because I have them for two more nights. I need my Pack Leader Domination Voice!
Around 10pm, I decided it was bed time because I had had enough. I had envisioned all three dogs snuggled up on the bed with me, but this was not to be.
I ended up with Cassie and Baylen downstairs with the gate up to keep them separated from Atticus. Instead of going downstairs and settling into the family room, they hung out in the foyer. Baylen laid by the front door, crying. Cassie stood on the stairs, giving me the pitiful face.
Atticus was on the bed, smugly chewing on his blanket. I may have been in the bathroom guzzling wine.
This was at 11pm.
1:06am. I am awakened. By Atticus.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOOOOOOFFFF! WOOOOOFFFFF! GRRRRR!! WOOOF! GRRRR!!! WOOF!!!!!! WOOOOOOFFFFF!!! GRRR!!! WOOOOOOFFF!!! WOOOOFF!!
What the fuck?!! Atticus! What the hell are you barking at?!!!???!! It's the same two god damn dogs that have been in the house all freakin night!!!!! Go to bed!!!!
3:17am. I am awakened yet again. By Atticus.
WOOOOOFF!!! WOOOF!!! WOOF!!!! GRRR!!! WOOOOFFFF!!!! WOOF!!! WOOF!!!!!
GRRRRR!!!! WOOF!!! WOOOOOFFFF!!!!! GRRR!!!! WOOF!!! WOOOFFFF!!!! WOOOF!!!
God damn it Atticus!! It's still the same two damn dogs!! Would you just go to sleep for the love of GOD!!!!!!
Where the hell is my wine?
Monday, July 16, 2012
I'm a prisoner in my own home!
I am currently stuck at my dining room table and I can't get up.
Do they make emergency alert necklaces for that?
I mean, I'm not hurt or anything. I still have full function of all my limbs. I'm completely conscious, alert and oriented. I haven't impaled myself to the chair with a fork.
This is actually why I can't get up.
Every time I sit down at the dining room table, Atticus curls up at my feet and snoozes. It's absolutely adorable. He rests his little head on the foot of the table and lays his fat little body across my feet.
I should probably be disciplining him or something, but it's so damn cute.
Could you disturb that sweet little face? Yeah. I didn't think so.
I'm actually surprised he can sleep at all, with my incessant picture taking. I can't resist. I am a sucker for an adorable dog. Well, for any dog. It's my weakness.
Well, that and chocolate. And ice cream. Also, bacon. And the word 'bogo'.
Sheesh, Mom. You are such a softie. Why don't you just put the camera down and go bring me your favorite bra to snack on so I don't have to get up.
I'm not that gullible. And, yes 'gullible' is in the dictionary. If it wasn't, I would've had to use a different word because I totally forgot how to spell it.
I feel like I should be doing something...
OH SHIT! My water is boiling over!
In addition to forgetting how to spell, apparently I also forget starting a meal. Maybe I really do need an emergency alert necklace. Clearly, I am a disaster waiting to happen.
Forgive me for ending this riveting post so soon. I must attend to my pasta. This means disrupting the pup.
Something tells me he'll survive the trauma.
Do they make emergency alert necklaces for that?
I mean, I'm not hurt or anything. I still have full function of all my limbs. I'm completely conscious, alert and oriented. I haven't impaled myself to the chair with a fork.
This is actually why I can't get up.
Every time I sit down at the dining room table, Atticus curls up at my feet and snoozes. It's absolutely adorable. He rests his little head on the foot of the table and lays his fat little body across my feet.
I should probably be disciplining him or something, but it's so damn cute.
I'm actually surprised he can sleep at all, with my incessant picture taking. I can't resist. I am a sucker for an adorable dog. Well, for any dog. It's my weakness.
Well, that and chocolate. And ice cream. Also, bacon. And the word 'bogo'.
Sheesh, Mom. You are such a softie. Why don't you just put the camera down and go bring me your favorite bra to snack on so I don't have to get up.
I'm not that gullible. And, yes 'gullible' is in the dictionary. If it wasn't, I would've had to use a different word because I totally forgot how to spell it.
I feel like I should be doing something...
OH SHIT! My water is boiling over!
In addition to forgetting how to spell, apparently I also forget starting a meal. Maybe I really do need an emergency alert necklace. Clearly, I am a disaster waiting to happen.
Forgive me for ending this riveting post so soon. I must attend to my pasta. This means disrupting the pup.
Something tells me he'll survive the trauma.
Monday, July 9, 2012
The taste of boob sweat and nervous breakdowns.
So, let's just get right down to it then, shall we?
I've been neglecting my bitz. I've also been neglecting my health, my husband, my chores. You name it and I've been neglecting it. It's been so much easier to just hide out and pretend that everything is okay.
Well, try to hide out. It seems the very source of all of my stress and worry and sloth like behavior is the very thing that keeps me occupied most of the time.
It's this guy.
Atticus.
He is my 11 month old mixed breed puppy. I adopted him from my husband's cousin's dog's unexpected litter. He came home with us the day after we returned from our honeymoon.
I love the little guy. I really do.
He is so handsome. He is super smart. He is an excellent snuggler. He is a great guard dog. He loves to play. He is silly and funny and full of puppyhood.
He is also exhausting.
He consumes all of my time because he follows me around the house constantly. Atticus is not the type of dog that can simply be left alone to play by himself. He needs your constant attention. If you do not give him your constant attention, he finds ways to make you give it to him.
This usually includes finding one of your prized possessions and destroying it while you chase him around the house, desperately trying to salvage whatever is between his teeth.
So far, he has destroyed 2 of my bras, 5 pairs of my underwear, countless socks, several books, several flower pots, my butterfly bushes, all but one of my couch pillows, 2 dog beds, 1 pair of clogs, 3 pairs of flip flops, 1 pair of bedroom slippers, the linoleum in the kitchen floor, 1 oven mitt, countless rolls of paper towels, 1 steak knife, 3 pairs of sunglasses and 2 pairs of actual prescription glasses. I'm probably forgetting a few things, but you get the idea.
He's a bit of a terror.
His shenanigans can bring any rational person to the point of a nervous breakdown in 7 seconds flat. Trust me.
I am not proud to admit this, but it's time to just spill my guts already. I'm tired of hiding it and pretending that I'm okay.
I'm losing it. I end up having a mental breakdown at least 5 times a week because of Atticus. I can't even explain it. That adorable little man can turn me into a raving lunatic in a heartbeat and I can't stop it. I can't 'just walk away' as I've told myself to so many times.
Part of that is the fear of what else will be destroyed while I'm locked in the bathroom regaining my composure. Part of it is that I just take myself from 0 to 100 so quickly that I can't simply go back to 0. I physically can't do it.
When Atticus has hold of my bra or any item from the above list, I use all the appropriate techniques to get him to sit, stay, drop and for the love of god give me the god damn bra before you choke on it or I rip it from your angry jaws.
However, it only works about 1% of the time. That's only when MB and I work together to trap Atticus under the dining room table so we can get the bra from between his teeth.
The other 99% of the time, things just escalate quickly. He doesn't listen so I yell louder. He still doesn't listen so I yell even louder. He thinks it's funny that I'm chasing him in a circle around the living room, using my 'mean' voice. I do not find it funny.
You would think at some point that I would realize that the damn dog doesn't speak English and does not understand that my tears are not tears of play. They are tears of OMG I CAN NOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE...GIVE ME THE FUCKING BRA BACK AND STOP DESTROYING ALL OF MY SHIT AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SIT GOD DAMN IT!
Yeah. It's really not pretty. Also? Surprisingly ineffective in getting him to actually listen and drop the bra and be obedient. Shocker.
It actually tends to escalate his behavior (again...shocker) so that he is so riled up, he is barking and biting at me. Then, I really can't control him and can only hope to grab him and put him in the crate without either of us getting hurt.
It's really not the kind of person I am or want to be, but here we are. This is what I've become. I know that it's my problem, not Atticus'. I know that if I could just figure out how to de-escalate myself before losing control, Atticus wouldn't lose control.
Easier said than done. Way easier.
I'm a god damn mental health professional, for crying out loud. I KNOW all of these things. I have excellent insight into all of my behavior. I know that I'm allowing myself to project all the stress about being broke, being fat, dealing with eye issues (another story in itself), having a house that's falling apart, being too broke to fix said house, hating my job and blah, blah, blah onto Atticus.
I know this, but instead of do anything about it, I've chosen to just let it get worse. I've chosen to keep it to myself and not deal with it.
If I had taken a little more time to myself, to blog or to walk or to do whatever, I would probably not have gotten to this point. I probably would've dealt with things a lot better.
That's why I'm here now, spilling my guts. I need to get it all out there so I can move on from this point. I need to get my snark back. I need to gain some much needed control over my life.
It won't change the fact that Atticus is a bit of a terror. It just might make me better equipped to handle him when he becomes a terror.
I can't accept that he is too much for us to handle. Trust me, we've had those conversations. However, the consequence of that realization is too much for me to bear. Atticus deserves a chance and I want to give him a fair one. If I do that and the behavior doesn't change, I may have to revisit that awful realization. I'm not prepared to do that yet. Don't even think about asking me to.
At the end of the day, all terroristic behavior aside, he is a pretty great dog. He deserves a mommy who doesn't lose her shit every time he gets near the laundry basket.
So, thanks for letting my vent. I'll try not to bore you every day with the tales of my terrible dog, who is currently carrying a tree around the yard. I'll try to find my blogging feet again. There is so much that I have wanted to share, but just...haven't.
But, you should probably expect a pretty Atticus centered blog for a bit. You know, since it's healthier to blog it out as opposed to entering a screaming match with a puppy who just likes the taste of imitation satin and boob sweat.
I've been neglecting my bitz. I've also been neglecting my health, my husband, my chores. You name it and I've been neglecting it. It's been so much easier to just hide out and pretend that everything is okay.
Well, try to hide out. It seems the very source of all of my stress and worry and sloth like behavior is the very thing that keeps me occupied most of the time.
It's this guy.
Atticus.
He is my 11 month old mixed breed puppy. I adopted him from my husband's cousin's dog's unexpected litter. He came home with us the day after we returned from our honeymoon.
I love the little guy. I really do.
He is so handsome. He is super smart. He is an excellent snuggler. He is a great guard dog. He loves to play. He is silly and funny and full of puppyhood.
He is also exhausting.
He consumes all of my time because he follows me around the house constantly. Atticus is not the type of dog that can simply be left alone to play by himself. He needs your constant attention. If you do not give him your constant attention, he finds ways to make you give it to him.
This usually includes finding one of your prized possessions and destroying it while you chase him around the house, desperately trying to salvage whatever is between his teeth.
So far, he has destroyed 2 of my bras, 5 pairs of my underwear, countless socks, several books, several flower pots, my butterfly bushes, all but one of my couch pillows, 2 dog beds, 1 pair of clogs, 3 pairs of flip flops, 1 pair of bedroom slippers, the linoleum in the kitchen floor, 1 oven mitt, countless rolls of paper towels, 1 steak knife, 3 pairs of sunglasses and 2 pairs of actual prescription glasses. I'm probably forgetting a few things, but you get the idea.
He's a bit of a terror.
His shenanigans can bring any rational person to the point of a nervous breakdown in 7 seconds flat. Trust me.
I am not proud to admit this, but it's time to just spill my guts already. I'm tired of hiding it and pretending that I'm okay.
I'm losing it. I end up having a mental breakdown at least 5 times a week because of Atticus. I can't even explain it. That adorable little man can turn me into a raving lunatic in a heartbeat and I can't stop it. I can't 'just walk away' as I've told myself to so many times.
Part of that is the fear of what else will be destroyed while I'm locked in the bathroom regaining my composure. Part of it is that I just take myself from 0 to 100 so quickly that I can't simply go back to 0. I physically can't do it.
When Atticus has hold of my bra or any item from the above list, I use all the appropriate techniques to get him to sit, stay, drop and for the love of god give me the god damn bra before you choke on it or I rip it from your angry jaws.
However, it only works about 1% of the time. That's only when MB and I work together to trap Atticus under the dining room table so we can get the bra from between his teeth.
The other 99% of the time, things just escalate quickly. He doesn't listen so I yell louder. He still doesn't listen so I yell even louder. He thinks it's funny that I'm chasing him in a circle around the living room, using my 'mean' voice. I do not find it funny.
You would think at some point that I would realize that the damn dog doesn't speak English and does not understand that my tears are not tears of play. They are tears of OMG I CAN NOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE...GIVE ME THE FUCKING BRA BACK AND STOP DESTROYING ALL OF MY SHIT AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SIT GOD DAMN IT!
Yeah. It's really not pretty. Also? Surprisingly ineffective in getting him to actually listen and drop the bra and be obedient. Shocker.
It actually tends to escalate his behavior (again...shocker) so that he is so riled up, he is barking and biting at me. Then, I really can't control him and can only hope to grab him and put him in the crate without either of us getting hurt.
It's really not the kind of person I am or want to be, but here we are. This is what I've become. I know that it's my problem, not Atticus'. I know that if I could just figure out how to de-escalate myself before losing control, Atticus wouldn't lose control.
Easier said than done. Way easier.
I'm a god damn mental health professional, for crying out loud. I KNOW all of these things. I have excellent insight into all of my behavior. I know that I'm allowing myself to project all the stress about being broke, being fat, dealing with eye issues (another story in itself), having a house that's falling apart, being too broke to fix said house, hating my job and blah, blah, blah onto Atticus.
I know this, but instead of do anything about it, I've chosen to just let it get worse. I've chosen to keep it to myself and not deal with it.
If I had taken a little more time to myself, to blog or to walk or to do whatever, I would probably not have gotten to this point. I probably would've dealt with things a lot better.
That's why I'm here now, spilling my guts. I need to get it all out there so I can move on from this point. I need to get my snark back. I need to gain some much needed control over my life.
It won't change the fact that Atticus is a bit of a terror. It just might make me better equipped to handle him when he becomes a terror.
I can't accept that he is too much for us to handle. Trust me, we've had those conversations. However, the consequence of that realization is too much for me to bear. Atticus deserves a chance and I want to give him a fair one. If I do that and the behavior doesn't change, I may have to revisit that awful realization. I'm not prepared to do that yet. Don't even think about asking me to.
At the end of the day, all terroristic behavior aside, he is a pretty great dog. He deserves a mommy who doesn't lose her shit every time he gets near the laundry basket.
So, thanks for letting my vent. I'll try not to bore you every day with the tales of my terrible dog, who is currently carrying a tree around the yard. I'll try to find my blogging feet again. There is so much that I have wanted to share, but just...haven't.
But, you should probably expect a pretty Atticus centered blog for a bit. You know, since it's healthier to blog it out as opposed to entering a screaming match with a puppy who just likes the taste of imitation satin and boob sweat.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Lint Flickers and Reckonings.
Holy sh*t, have I ever been neglecting my bitz. I just logged on and a piece of tumbleweed rolled gently over my keyboard.
Also, I'm pretty sure my dear husband just disposed of his belly button lint by throwing it on my desk.
He watched Hatfields and McCoys not too long ago and now says we are feuding. He also keeps saying "I reckon". It's not annoying at all.
I'm not sure how belly button lint became part of the feuding tactics. I'm not sure I want to know.
I don't even know why we're feuding. It probably has something to do with the fact that I have been seriously neglecting my wifely duties.
Not those wifely duties. (Hi MB's Mom!) The wifely duties of laundry and having dinner on the table every night and other such household chores. Yes, I do hold myself to the standards of Mrs. June Cleaver. So does MB.
You're probably thinking that I'm some anal weirdo who has to have everything in it's place with a nice neat label. To that, I guffaw!
If you came to my house right now, you'd probably be more apt to call me a hoarder. There are no dead cats in my freezer (that I know of) and none of my yogurts have expired (that I know of).
However, there are several piles of laundry that may or may not be clean (I have completely lost track) in various locations throughout the house. One is next to our bed and within reach of the puppy. This means we occasionally have to chase him around to retrieve semi-clean pairs of underwear because hell if I know where the clean ones are.
If you aren't lucky enough to save the underwear from Atticus' jaws, you just may have to go commando.
MB keeps reminding me that it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I would just do a little bit of it each day. I pretend to listen as I try to wrangle my last unsweaty bra from the puppy of doom.
He has an appetite for destruction. Can't you see it in his eyes?
I know it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I did a little each day. I'm not mentally impaired. I didn't suffer a brain injury while chucking wet bath towels down the stairs into the family room/laundry chute. I'm just lazy. And it's hot. And there are spiders in the laundry room.
Most importantly, I just don't like doing laundry. I never have, but it's gotten worse since we got Atticus. Laundry becomes a challenge when you have to keep all of the clothing above Atticus level. Who needs the extra challenge?
Not this newlywed.
I guess the feuding will just continue. I'm going to go hide a honeysuckle soap in MB's man cave.
Take that, you belly button lint flicker!
(Love you!)
Also, I'm pretty sure my dear husband just disposed of his belly button lint by throwing it on my desk.
He watched Hatfields and McCoys not too long ago and now says we are feuding. He also keeps saying "I reckon". It's not annoying at all.
I'm not sure how belly button lint became part of the feuding tactics. I'm not sure I want to know.
I don't even know why we're feuding. It probably has something to do with the fact that I have been seriously neglecting my wifely duties.
Not those wifely duties. (Hi MB's Mom!) The wifely duties of laundry and having dinner on the table every night and other such household chores. Yes, I do hold myself to the standards of Mrs. June Cleaver. So does MB.
You're probably thinking that I'm some anal weirdo who has to have everything in it's place with a nice neat label. To that, I guffaw!
If you came to my house right now, you'd probably be more apt to call me a hoarder. There are no dead cats in my freezer (that I know of) and none of my yogurts have expired (that I know of).
However, there are several piles of laundry that may or may not be clean (I have completely lost track) in various locations throughout the house. One is next to our bed and within reach of the puppy. This means we occasionally have to chase him around to retrieve semi-clean pairs of underwear because hell if I know where the clean ones are.
If you aren't lucky enough to save the underwear from Atticus' jaws, you just may have to go commando.
MB keeps reminding me that it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I would just do a little bit of it each day. I pretend to listen as I try to wrangle my last unsweaty bra from the puppy of doom.
He has an appetite for destruction. Can't you see it in his eyes?
I know it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I did a little each day. I'm not mentally impaired. I didn't suffer a brain injury while chucking wet bath towels down the stairs into the family room/laundry chute. I'm just lazy. And it's hot. And there are spiders in the laundry room.
Most importantly, I just don't like doing laundry. I never have, but it's gotten worse since we got Atticus. Laundry becomes a challenge when you have to keep all of the clothing above Atticus level. Who needs the extra challenge?
Not this newlywed.
I guess the feuding will just continue. I'm going to go hide a honeysuckle soap in MB's man cave.
Take that, you belly button lint flicker!
(Love you!)
Sunday, March 11, 2012
My funk is definitely lifting. I'm in much better spirits.
I mean, I still want to spend most days on the couch watching tv. That's because most of the time I have a sleepy puppy snuggling up on my lap though. I can't deny him. Also, if I get up and do stuff, it's going to entail me cleaning the house.
That snuggly puppy can wreak havoc on anything in his path. I just swept up three rooms worth of chewed up firewood and stuffed animal guts. He's a monster!
But, he is adorable.
When he's not eating my throw rugs.
Pretty handsome, right?
I know. I'm biased. Whatever.
So, I've been really busy lately but I haven't done anything all that exciting. My work schedule has been weird. Day shift, night shift, day shift...no consistency at all. I don't even know what day it is most of the time.
Then, I come home to my little monster and his path of destruction. I also usually come home to the same ginormous pile of laundry that has been threatening me for days now. It has become my nemesis.
It's cool though. I have enough clean underwear to get me through another 4 days. If I could fit into my 'skinny' underwear, I'd be set for another 3 months.
Laundry piles aside, I'm feeling pretty good about my life right now. I have goals and that's always nice. It's nice to have stuff to look forward to. For the better part of the year, that stuff had been my nuptials. Then those were over and real life set in. Cue the funk.
Now, spring is here and I have things to do. I've been working on some pretty fun baking projects and I have some more ahead. I'm trying to make a little extra money on the side by baking for people. Hopefully it'll work out.
I'm also feeling motivated again to get skinny. If I can get my fat ass on track again, I'll feel so much better. Hell, I might even want to tackle that pile of laundry. HA!
I'm off to watch The Walking Dead with my hubby now. It's our Sunday night thing. The pup is ready for snuggling too so I have to clear my lap. He's so demanding.
Night all.
I mean, I still want to spend most days on the couch watching tv. That's because most of the time I have a sleepy puppy snuggling up on my lap though. I can't deny him. Also, if I get up and do stuff, it's going to entail me cleaning the house.
That snuggly puppy can wreak havoc on anything in his path. I just swept up three rooms worth of chewed up firewood and stuffed animal guts. He's a monster!
But, he is adorable.
When he's not eating my throw rugs.
Pretty handsome, right?
I know. I'm biased. Whatever.
So, I've been really busy lately but I haven't done anything all that exciting. My work schedule has been weird. Day shift, night shift, day shift...no consistency at all. I don't even know what day it is most of the time.
Then, I come home to my little monster and his path of destruction. I also usually come home to the same ginormous pile of laundry that has been threatening me for days now. It has become my nemesis.
It's cool though. I have enough clean underwear to get me through another 4 days. If I could fit into my 'skinny' underwear, I'd be set for another 3 months.
Laundry piles aside, I'm feeling pretty good about my life right now. I have goals and that's always nice. It's nice to have stuff to look forward to. For the better part of the year, that stuff had been my nuptials. Then those were over and real life set in. Cue the funk.
Now, spring is here and I have things to do. I've been working on some pretty fun baking projects and I have some more ahead. I'm trying to make a little extra money on the side by baking for people. Hopefully it'll work out.
I'm also feeling motivated again to get skinny. If I can get my fat ass on track again, I'll feel so much better. Hell, I might even want to tackle that pile of laundry. HA!
I'm off to watch The Walking Dead with my hubby now. It's our Sunday night thing. The pup is ready for snuggling too so I have to clear my lap. He's so demanding.
Night all.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Blurry or not. It still stinks.
So, I recently went to the eye doctor and realized that I am, in fact, getting old way before my time.
It's a sad realization. One day, you are beebopping along to NKOTB. Then...WHAM!...you are in the doctor's office crying because you can't see the big E on the eye chart.
Yep. That big E.
(sigh)
I seriously could not see the big E. Hell, the words on the screen right now are pretty fuzzy. I;m playing thot the typas are it a minymom.
My eyes have been red and irritated for 2 weeks now. This has prompted such delightful questions as: "Do you have pink eye?", "Are you crying?" and "Whoa. How hungover are you?"
Fun stuff. When the doctor saw me, she said I have edema (swelling) in my eyes (barf) and that's making things fuzzy. She can't even examine me for a new preacription until it clears up.
This was my conversation with MB regarding the diagnosis:
Me: So, I have edema in my eyes.
MB: Edema? You know what that means, don't you?
Me: Yeah. Swelling.
MB: No. It means you have fat eyes.
I'm considering separate bedrooms for a punishment period of 30 days.
Anywho, I'm functioning in a fog right now and it's kinda scary. Especially with a puppy in the house. It makes that midnight trek to the fridge for...apples, yeah apples...a whole lot more dangerous. The question of is it poop or that stupid toy hedgehog becomes much more difficult to answer. I pretty much step over it and wait until MB wakes up. If he yells, it's poop.
Then, I pretend to be sound asleep while he cleans it up.
Trickery is fun. Love you, MB. Smooches.
I'm supposed to go back to the doctor on Tuesday to see if my stupid swelling (barf) has gone down enough for them to do an actual eye exam. Then, we'll see just how thick my glasses will be this year. Yay!
Of course, MB had an eye exam recently during his physical for the fire department. He was told that he has 20/8 vision or something ridiculous like that. It basically means that he has better than perfect vision. In his eyes, he is some sort of super hero who can see into the future.
It's super annoying.
I'm now considering 60 days.
While I await the swelling (barf) to go down and my eyesight to return to normal, I'm relying on Atticus to guide me. That's how desperate I am. The one who eats poop is the one I'm trusting to keep me from falling down the steps.
Wish me luck!
It's a sad realization. One day, you are beebopping along to NKOTB. Then...WHAM!...you are in the doctor's office crying because you can't see the big E on the eye chart.
Yep. That big E.
(sigh)
I seriously could not see the big E. Hell, the words on the screen right now are pretty fuzzy. I;m playing thot the typas are it a minymom.
My eyes have been red and irritated for 2 weeks now. This has prompted such delightful questions as: "Do you have pink eye?", "Are you crying?" and "Whoa. How hungover are you?"
Fun stuff. When the doctor saw me, she said I have edema (swelling) in my eyes (barf) and that's making things fuzzy. She can't even examine me for a new preacription until it clears up.
This was my conversation with MB regarding the diagnosis:
Me: So, I have edema in my eyes.
MB: Edema? You know what that means, don't you?
Me: Yeah. Swelling.
MB: No. It means you have fat eyes.
I'm considering separate bedrooms for a punishment period of 30 days.
Anywho, I'm functioning in a fog right now and it's kinda scary. Especially with a puppy in the house. It makes that midnight trek to the fridge for...apples, yeah apples...a whole lot more dangerous. The question of is it poop or that stupid toy hedgehog becomes much more difficult to answer. I pretty much step over it and wait until MB wakes up. If he yells, it's poop.
Then, I pretend to be sound asleep while he cleans it up.
Trickery is fun. Love you, MB. Smooches.
I'm supposed to go back to the doctor on Tuesday to see if my stupid swelling (barf) has gone down enough for them to do an actual eye exam. Then, we'll see just how thick my glasses will be this year. Yay!
Of course, MB had an eye exam recently during his physical for the fire department. He was told that he has 20/8 vision or something ridiculous like that. It basically means that he has better than perfect vision. In his eyes, he is some sort of super hero who can see into the future.
It's super annoying.
I'm now considering 60 days.
While I await the swelling (barf) to go down and my eyesight to return to normal, I'm relying on Atticus to guide me. That's how desperate I am. The one who eats poop is the one I'm trusting to keep me from falling down the steps.
Wish me luck!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wet spots, body hair and evil farts. Also, snot.
So, it's a little after midnight and I have forsaken my cozy, warm bed for the icy cold living room full of slobbery dog toys and wet spots that may or may not be puppy pee (they usually are).
Why? Because I'm awake. Fully awake. Also, I'm full of snot. Have you missed my glamour and lady-like-ness? I thought you might.
I'm not full of snot because I have a cold. Although, that would be a logical conclusion, considering that MB keeps the house at a nice, comfortable arctic temperature in the winter. Just because he has a lot of...you know, I was going to make a body hair joke here but I thought better of it.
Love you, MB.
Anyway, I'm full of snot because I was kinda crying in bed. Not because of the cold. It's because today is December 29 and exactly 4 months ago, we put our Skye girl to sleep.
I know. Here she goes blabbering on about her dead dog again. Blah blah blah. Well, just shutup. I miss my dead dog. Considering how much of a sniveling sentimental crazy person I am, I think I've dealt with the death of my girl in a very healthy manner.
I've maintained my status as a functioning member of society and everything. There are just those little moments where all of the emotion of those last two days with her just creep up on me. When that happens, I get a little weepy.
It also happens when I dust. I have to gently pick up her little box of ashes in order to clean the bookshelf and it always ends in tears. I've told MB that I need a maid for this very reason (and many others), but he's not buying it.
It's like he's made of stone.
Which he isn't. Those last days with her were just raw and emotional for both us. We both have those weepy moments. Mine are more frequent, but there's no judgement here people.
So, tonight I started replaying that final day in my head as I was trying to fall asleep to dreams of George Clooney...I mean, my handsome hubby.
Love you, MB.
Flashes of that day just kept invading my brain, resulting in tears on my pillow and snot in my nose. The sniffling became more like snorting and I decided to relocate for the sake of my marriage. No one wants to be married to a snorter.
Plus, my new Kindle (Christmas present from my awesome hubby!) was on the shelf and it makes this weird noise randomly. By randomly, I mean approximately every 17 seconds. It sounds like it's hissing. Wtf?!
I left it for MB to enjoy and plopped myself on the sofa. Of course, Atticus follows me absolutely everywhere (even the bathroom - it's awkward) so he is here beside me. He is now making weird noises. Maybe I have this effect on things.
Usually it's some sort of gassy noise with Atticus. Either he is farting or his tummy is rumbling and preparing to fart. He's all boy, that one. .
By the way, he's getting really big.
See? He's almost too big for me to pick up and spoil. Almost. My chiropractor would argue that he's past that point, but what does she know. Crooked schmooked.
Is it wrong that I want to gorge myself on peanut butter cups? I totally just typed bups because my glasses are so effed up. Atticus got to them and now I have to view the world through teeth marks.
I love puppies.
Maybe I'll just indulge in some ice water. I am still recovering from our Annual Birthday Bar Hop that took place last night. MB and I share a birthday (gag me, I know) and we have hosted this event every year since he turned 30. I'll have to come back tomorrow and tell you about that debauchery.
For now, I'm going to hide the peanut butter bups, grab some ice water and watch Bones episodes on netflix until I fall asleep. I might also slip Atticus some antacids. Holy hell! Whatever is coming from his rear is just evil. Pure stinky evil.
Good night, peeps. We'll talk tomorrow. :)
Why? Because I'm awake. Fully awake. Also, I'm full of snot. Have you missed my glamour and lady-like-ness? I thought you might.
I'm not full of snot because I have a cold. Although, that would be a logical conclusion, considering that MB keeps the house at a nice, comfortable arctic temperature in the winter. Just because he has a lot of...you know, I was going to make a body hair joke here but I thought better of it.
Love you, MB.
Anyway, I'm full of snot because I was kinda crying in bed. Not because of the cold. It's because today is December 29 and exactly 4 months ago, we put our Skye girl to sleep.
I know. Here she goes blabbering on about her dead dog again. Blah blah blah. Well, just shutup. I miss my dead dog. Considering how much of a sniveling sentimental crazy person I am, I think I've dealt with the death of my girl in a very healthy manner.
I've maintained my status as a functioning member of society and everything. There are just those little moments where all of the emotion of those last two days with her just creep up on me. When that happens, I get a little weepy.
It also happens when I dust. I have to gently pick up her little box of ashes in order to clean the bookshelf and it always ends in tears. I've told MB that I need a maid for this very reason (and many others), but he's not buying it.
It's like he's made of stone.
Which he isn't. Those last days with her were just raw and emotional for both us. We both have those weepy moments. Mine are more frequent, but there's no judgement here people.
So, tonight I started replaying that final day in my head as I was trying to fall asleep to dreams of George Clooney...I mean, my handsome hubby.
Love you, MB.
Flashes of that day just kept invading my brain, resulting in tears on my pillow and snot in my nose. The sniffling became more like snorting and I decided to relocate for the sake of my marriage. No one wants to be married to a snorter.
Plus, my new Kindle (Christmas present from my awesome hubby!) was on the shelf and it makes this weird noise randomly. By randomly, I mean approximately every 17 seconds. It sounds like it's hissing. Wtf?!
I left it for MB to enjoy and plopped myself on the sofa. Of course, Atticus follows me absolutely everywhere (even the bathroom - it's awkward) so he is here beside me. He is now making weird noises. Maybe I have this effect on things.
Usually it's some sort of gassy noise with Atticus. Either he is farting or his tummy is rumbling and preparing to fart. He's all boy, that one. .
By the way, he's getting really big.
See? He's almost too big for me to pick up and spoil. Almost. My chiropractor would argue that he's past that point, but what does she know. Crooked schmooked.
Is it wrong that I want to gorge myself on peanut butter cups? I totally just typed bups because my glasses are so effed up. Atticus got to them and now I have to view the world through teeth marks.
I love puppies.
Maybe I'll just indulge in some ice water. I am still recovering from our Annual Birthday Bar Hop that took place last night. MB and I share a birthday (gag me, I know) and we have hosted this event every year since he turned 30. I'll have to come back tomorrow and tell you about that debauchery.
For now, I'm going to hide the peanut butter bups, grab some ice water and watch Bones episodes on netflix until I fall asleep. I might also slip Atticus some antacids. Holy hell! Whatever is coming from his rear is just evil. Pure stinky evil.
Good night, peeps. We'll talk tomorrow. :)
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The new man in my life.
So, this morning was supposed to be my one morning this week to sleep in. However, I found myself facing bites to the face at 6am, forcing me to wake up very angry.
Then, I had the pleasure of listening to the squeak of a puppy chewing a flip flop not 3 inches from my face. Have you ever heard the sound of puppy teeth gnawing on rubber? It's very similar to nails on a chalkboard but with a much higher risk of bites to the face.
This is Atticus.
Atticus is the little bundle of joy who can't seem to understand that I need one freakin moment of peace once in awhile.
He's a Momma's boy. This means that wherever Momma goes, Atticus goes. Kitchen. Couch. Bed. Toilet. Shower. I have no sanctuary.
I can usually keep him occupied for approximately 10 minutes at a time. Then, he's biting my feet or my boobs or my face and I have to find a new distraction for him to play with. 10 minutes later...repeat.
This is why I've been so absent. I can't seem to get anything done, let alone sit and blog. It's so frustrating.
We try to take turns on puppy patrol. He needs constant monitoring because he gets into everything. Atticus just has a thing for his Mommy though, so it usually backfires.
I try to hide out somewhere for a few minutes and do what I need to do. Whether it's folding laundry, cleaning the floors, taking a shower, blogging. He always finds me.
Always.
Then, I end up with piles of clothes on the dressers, dirty hair and neglected Bitz.
This is my life now. I'm very close to locking myself in the spider cubby with a bottle of wine and my laptop.
I kinda need a break sometimes. Don't judge.
It is all our doing though. We are totally to blame.
We returned from our honeymoon and picked up Atticus. The timing was horrible. The in-laws (and their dogs) were still remodeling the kitchen and our house was turned upside down (still is to some extent). Our roomate had just moved in downstairs. We had people, stuff and dogs everywhere.
A puppy? Sure. Why not!
I had planned on getting him a few weeks after we returned. However, I heard rumors that the puppies weren't being fed and hadn't gotten their shots and I had to investigate. When we went to see him, it was pretty bad. There was poop everywhere. He had no water. He was skinny. I just took him. There was no question.
He came home with me that day and our lives have not been the same. It's been a real challenge raising a puppy. We were still grieving for our Skye girl. We were still trying to put our house back together. We were just trying to adjust to everything. Adding a very hyper, bite happy puppy to the mix was not the best idea for our sanity.
I try to remind him every day that we saved his little fat ass and he should be grateful. I don't think he cares.
It's not all bad though. Don't get me wrong. He is pretty adorable. He's snuggly and wiggly and fat, just like a puppy should be. He does funny things like barking at his reflection and tripping over the ginormous stick he likes to carry around the yard.
We love the little guy.
He is a handsome little devil. Don't ya think?
I guess we'll keep him. ;)
Then, I had the pleasure of listening to the squeak of a puppy chewing a flip flop not 3 inches from my face. Have you ever heard the sound of puppy teeth gnawing on rubber? It's very similar to nails on a chalkboard but with a much higher risk of bites to the face.
This is Atticus.
Atticus is the little bundle of joy who can't seem to understand that I need one freakin moment of peace once in awhile.
He's a Momma's boy. This means that wherever Momma goes, Atticus goes. Kitchen. Couch. Bed. Toilet. Shower. I have no sanctuary.
I can usually keep him occupied for approximately 10 minutes at a time. Then, he's biting my feet or my boobs or my face and I have to find a new distraction for him to play with. 10 minutes later...repeat.
This is why I've been so absent. I can't seem to get anything done, let alone sit and blog. It's so frustrating.
We try to take turns on puppy patrol. He needs constant monitoring because he gets into everything. Atticus just has a thing for his Mommy though, so it usually backfires.
I try to hide out somewhere for a few minutes and do what I need to do. Whether it's folding laundry, cleaning the floors, taking a shower, blogging. He always finds me.
Always.
Then, I end up with piles of clothes on the dressers, dirty hair and neglected Bitz.
This is my life now. I'm very close to locking myself in the spider cubby with a bottle of wine and my laptop.
I kinda need a break sometimes. Don't judge.
It is all our doing though. We are totally to blame.
We returned from our honeymoon and picked up Atticus. The timing was horrible. The in-laws (and their dogs) were still remodeling the kitchen and our house was turned upside down (still is to some extent). Our roomate had just moved in downstairs. We had people, stuff and dogs everywhere.
A puppy? Sure. Why not!
I had planned on getting him a few weeks after we returned. However, I heard rumors that the puppies weren't being fed and hadn't gotten their shots and I had to investigate. When we went to see him, it was pretty bad. There was poop everywhere. He had no water. He was skinny. I just took him. There was no question.
He came home with me that day and our lives have not been the same. It's been a real challenge raising a puppy. We were still grieving for our Skye girl. We were still trying to put our house back together. We were just trying to adjust to everything. Adding a very hyper, bite happy puppy to the mix was not the best idea for our sanity.
I try to remind him every day that we saved his little fat ass and he should be grateful. I don't think he cares.
It's not all bad though. Don't get me wrong. He is pretty adorable. He's snuggly and wiggly and fat, just like a puppy should be. He does funny things like barking at his reflection and tripping over the ginormous stick he likes to carry around the yard.
We love the little guy.
He is a handsome little devil. Don't ya think?
I guess we'll keep him. ;)
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Weeks like this are exactly why they invented beer.
If I had my way, I would be functioning on a steady iv of alcohol. Unfortunately, it's frowned upon.
Jerks.
So, it's been a really sh*tty week in the Girly Bitz household. We had to let our Skye girl go exactly one week ago today.
Before I go any further, I have to say 'thank you' to all of you who sent me messages of support during this awful time. I love you all. You have no idea how much your kind words meant to me. :)
It's funny because I think I'm doing okay. MB might disagree. There have been at least 7 occasions where he has complained that I'm grumpy or sound weird or something as he calls to me from the man cave. When he comes up to give me a hard time about it, thinking I'm just TOMing, he discovers that I'm crying.
Then, he gets sad and then we both get sad and then we want ice cream.
It's a vicious cycle of grief and gluttony.
The hardest thing is being in the house, which sucks because...well, we live here. This is where we keep our clean underwear. Eventually we have to stop by and refresh ourselves.
We did a pretty good job of avoiding the house completely on Tuesday. We went to lunch. We went biking. We drank with friends. Biking was fun until I just hit a wall of heat exhaustion, mosquito bite irritation and grief and just stopped.
I ended up barfing because The Beast saw an opportunity and took it. That bastard.
I've been okay while at work too. My patients provide a pretty good distraction. "So, you tried to hang yourself?" "No, you can not have your belt back." "Yes, you are going to the hospital." "Yes, I'll get you a turkey sandwich."
Busy work.
When I get in the car to come home, I'm okay for a minute or two. "Ooh, what's on my zune." "I like this song." "Hey asshole. Why don't you get the hell out of my lane."
Then, my evil little brain decides to chime in as I fight off any impending grief with off key singing and road rage rantings.
"Hey there." "I see you're really getting into that song." "That's cool."
"So, how bout this weather we're having?" "Hey...remember when your dog died?"
SH*T! YOU BASTARD!!!
Then, the tears come and then the memories flood over me and by the time I get home, I'm a snot covered, sniveling wreck of a dogless woman.
It sucks.
All of the people in my life are very sympathetic to my breakdowns. They have been doing well being calls and offering up shoulders for me to cry on whenever I need them. Everyone has been just amazing. I am truly blessed.
I'm sure there are some people who wonder why there's still a basket of dog toys in the living room. I'm sure they would think I was a borderline hoarder if they saw the dog bed stashed in the guest room closet and her blanket hanging on my office chair.
It's a process. Don't judge me.
I'll wash that freakin blanket when I'm damn well ready. It's only been 7 days. Cut me some slack.
Don't worry peeps. I'm not completely losing my sh*t over here. I'm keeping it together.
I have plenty of other distractions...work and all of it's insanity, the never ending battle to shed pounds, the never ending battle to save money. Oh yeah, and the nuptial nonsense. I am still getting hitched in 27(?) days.
Holy hell! 27(?) days?!?!?!?
I need a beer.
Good night peeps.
Jerks.
So, it's been a really sh*tty week in the Girly Bitz household. We had to let our Skye girl go exactly one week ago today.
Before I go any further, I have to say 'thank you' to all of you who sent me messages of support during this awful time. I love you all. You have no idea how much your kind words meant to me. :)
It's funny because I think I'm doing okay. MB might disagree. There have been at least 7 occasions where he has complained that I'm grumpy or sound weird or something as he calls to me from the man cave. When he comes up to give me a hard time about it, thinking I'm just TOMing, he discovers that I'm crying.
Then, he gets sad and then we both get sad and then we want ice cream.
It's a vicious cycle of grief and gluttony.
The hardest thing is being in the house, which sucks because...well, we live here. This is where we keep our clean underwear. Eventually we have to stop by and refresh ourselves.
We did a pretty good job of avoiding the house completely on Tuesday. We went to lunch. We went biking. We drank with friends. Biking was fun until I just hit a wall of heat exhaustion, mosquito bite irritation and grief and just stopped.
I ended up barfing because The Beast saw an opportunity and took it. That bastard.
I've been okay while at work too. My patients provide a pretty good distraction. "So, you tried to hang yourself?" "No, you can not have your belt back." "Yes, you are going to the hospital." "Yes, I'll get you a turkey sandwich."
Busy work.
When I get in the car to come home, I'm okay for a minute or two. "Ooh, what's on my zune." "I like this song." "Hey asshole. Why don't you get the hell out of my lane."
Then, my evil little brain decides to chime in as I fight off any impending grief with off key singing and road rage rantings.
"Hey there." "I see you're really getting into that song." "That's cool."
"So, how bout this weather we're having?" "Hey...remember when your dog died?"
SH*T! YOU BASTARD!!!
Then, the tears come and then the memories flood over me and by the time I get home, I'm a snot covered, sniveling wreck of a dogless woman.
It sucks.
All of the people in my life are very sympathetic to my breakdowns. They have been doing well being calls and offering up shoulders for me to cry on whenever I need them. Everyone has been just amazing. I am truly blessed.
I'm sure there are some people who wonder why there's still a basket of dog toys in the living room. I'm sure they would think I was a borderline hoarder if they saw the dog bed stashed in the guest room closet and her blanket hanging on my office chair.
It's a process. Don't judge me.
I'll wash that freakin blanket when I'm damn well ready. It's only been 7 days. Cut me some slack.
Don't worry peeps. I'm not completely losing my sh*t over here. I'm keeping it together.
I have plenty of other distractions...work and all of it's insanity, the never ending battle to shed pounds, the never ending battle to save money. Oh yeah, and the nuptial nonsense. I am still getting hitched in 27(?) days.
Holy hell! 27(?) days?!?!?!?
I need a beer.
Good night peeps.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The gaping hole in my heart.
As you may or may not have already read, my Skye girl is gone. We had to let her go yesterday and it was absolutely heartbreaking.
She started to have some trouble on Thursday night.
Things got better on Friday. Saturday morning was good. I cleaned the house and got ready for Hurricane Irene and she was my shadow all day. Her little face was right beside me all day as I dusted and mopped and filled water bottles.
I was spoiling the hell out of her all day because of how she had been on Thursday night. I was giving her hugs and kisses every chance I could. The funny thing? She was letting me.
I took full advantage of it too. Looking back, I'm glad I did. That was really the last time I had with my Skye girl. My real Skye girl.
She started to get sick Saturday night. She vomited a few times and just didn't feel good. All pretty normal, considering she had an infection. The plan was to get the antibiotics on Monday morning and get her back to normal.
That never happened. She started to deteriorate Sunday evening and she just never recovered. We were up all night with her on Sunday. She needed constant monitoring because she kept getting herself stuck in corners.
It was like she physically had to keep moving. She couldn't stop. She paced the house all night. She only slept when she happened to fall from sheer exhaustion and her body just let her sleep. That was only a few times and they were very brief.
I spent the night trying to comfort her and get her to relax. I let her pace and got up each and every time she got stuck and turned her around, as I gently kissed her head. I held the water bowl for her when she was thirsty. My heart broke with each and every minute.
We tried the antibiotics, hoping and praying that we would see some sign of progress. Something that would tell us it was all related to the uti.
But, there was nothing. We called the vet and they said it was most likely something in her brain, possibly a tumor. There may not be any hope for her.
When I took her outside to the yard, I knew in my heart that it was over. She just wasn't there anymore. Her face wasn't the same little face. Her eyes had nothing left.
I knew.
She just continued to go from there. In the end, she couldn't stand up. Her Daddy carried her out to the yard where she would be more comfortable. When I saw her lying in the grass, I said "It's time" and we both broke down.
We both knew this was it. This was the end for our little girl.
Crying the entire time, we carried her to the vet and stayed with her until she was at peace. We caressed her and told her we loved her right up until the end.
We are both heartbroken. This house is filled with her absence and it is killing us. We just miss our little girl so much.
It feels empty without her. Quiet.
I am reminded of her in everything I do. When I open the front door, I miss her little face at the top of the stairs. I miss the little kiss she would give me as I greeted her.
I miss her little face next to me in the kitchen, waiting for a crumb. I miss her anticipation when I ate toast with peanut butter, knowing there was a lump for her on the plate.
I miss the sound of her at the bathroom door as she waited for me to come out, sometimes nuzzling her way in. I miss her face looking up at me in the morning when I left for work. I miss bending down to give her a little kiss and say 'good morning'.
I miss her excited antics when I would put on my sneakers, knowing she was going for a walk. I miss having her beside me in the sunshine, sniffing the grass and taking in the fresh air.
I miss...well, just everything.
This has been a brutal couple of days and it's going to be bad for awhile. But, I know that my little girl is at peace now. She is no longer suffering and that gives my heart some relief.
It will be a long time before I come into this house without tears. It will be a long time before I get rid of her bed or her toys or that blanket that smells like her.
We took her into our lives and gave her a home. In return, she made us a family.
We will always miss her and we will always love her.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Loss of a dear, dear friend.
Rest In Peace
My little Skye Girl
I will always love you and miss you, my Siberian Princess. I'm so sorry that you had to suffer at all, but I take comfort in knowing that you are at peace now.
My little Skye Girl
I will always love you and miss you, my Siberian Princess. I'm so sorry that you had to suffer at all, but I take comfort in knowing that you are at peace now.
Friday, August 26, 2011
I'm going to need meds. Stat.
My last post was August 11.
Sheesh.
You would think I was busy planning a wedding and going insane from all of the nuptial nonsense.
Well, I totally am.
This sh*t is hard! It consumes you. It consumes your life. It's like a leech that just sucks all of the time, energy, money and sanity directly from your soul.
I mean...it's the happiest day of my life. Yay?
It is. Don't worry. I'm not saying that.
I'm just saying that I'm being consumed by the nuptial nonsense that precedes the happiest day of my life.
Oh yeah...in the midst of all the nuptial nonsense and it's consumption of my soul? My Siberian Princess decides to officially become a senior citizen.
She was diagnosed with Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome today. It's basically Alzheimer's Disease in canine form.
Awesome.
If you add that to her deteriorating back leg and hip function and her urinary incontinence, I think you can safely say she's an old lady.
(tear)
My poor little Siberian Princess.
We had a really rough night last night, the Princess and I. She was essentially pacing all night, which is not unusual for her. Last night, she was also very disoriented and struggling to walk.
She was having a lot of trouble keeping herself up on her back end. When she stopped pacing, she would just kinda stand there and her back end would slowly start to drop. Either that or her back legs would splay out like Bambi on the ice.
It was pitiful to watch. There were several times when she just went 'phoomph' down on the floor and just stayed there. She looked completely uncomfortable because she couldn't settle herself into her bed like she normally does. She just landed and that was it.
She had trouble getting herself back up when she landed and I lifted her a few times. For a dog that hates to be touched, she tolerated it pretty well.
In addition to the 'phoomphing', she was having episodes of confusion. She would get herself stuck in a corner and couldn't figure out how to get herself out.
At one point, she woke me up because she was on the floor with her face in the corner of the headboard. I think she got up from her bed with the intent to pace a little. I'm not sure how that turned into her getting stuck in a corner, but it did. She was whining because she couldn't understand why continuing to push her face into the wall did not equal getting unstuck.
I can't even begin to tell you how much my heart broke at that very moment.
I lifted her up and pointed her in the right direction, fighting back tears as I did so. When she righted herself enough to pace, she paced out into the living room.
After a few minutes, I no longer heard the jingling of her tags. I also had not heard a 'phoomph'. When I went out to look for her, I didn't see her anywhere.
Upon closer inspection, I saw her lying on the floor under the dining room table. She didn't make a sound. It looked as though she had been pacing over there, on her normal pacing path, and got stuck. Since no one was there to free her, she just flopped.
Again, my heart broke as I lifted her up and got her situated.
We had a couple more incidents like that before she finally got settled into her bed.
She had a vet appointment this morning and we shared all of this with her. The vet thinks she is just losing some of her brain function due to aging. She suggested some supplements that might help. She is also starting her on anti-inflammatory medication for the hip and back end pain.
I realize that these things might not get better. They might get much worse for my Princess. All we can do is try our best to make her comfortable and help her maintain the quality of life she deserves.
Oh God.
I can't even believe those words are being uttered. This is so not what I was hoping for my Princess. She has been through so much in her life that we don't even know about. I don't want her to have to experience any more pain or struggle.
She's going to have good days and bad days from now on. The medications will help and I can only hope and pray that they work well enough to allow her to feel like herself again.
I ask that you hope and pray right along with me.
Sheesh.
You would think I was busy planning a wedding and going insane from all of the nuptial nonsense.
Well, I totally am.
This sh*t is hard! It consumes you. It consumes your life. It's like a leech that just sucks all of the time, energy, money and sanity directly from your soul.
I mean...it's the happiest day of my life. Yay?
It is. Don't worry. I'm not saying that.
I'm just saying that I'm being consumed by the nuptial nonsense that precedes the happiest day of my life.
Oh yeah...in the midst of all the nuptial nonsense and it's consumption of my soul? My Siberian Princess decides to officially become a senior citizen.
She was diagnosed with Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome today. It's basically Alzheimer's Disease in canine form.
Awesome.
If you add that to her deteriorating back leg and hip function and her urinary incontinence, I think you can safely say she's an old lady.
(tear)
My poor little Siberian Princess.
We had a really rough night last night, the Princess and I. She was essentially pacing all night, which is not unusual for her. Last night, she was also very disoriented and struggling to walk.
She was having a lot of trouble keeping herself up on her back end. When she stopped pacing, she would just kinda stand there and her back end would slowly start to drop. Either that or her back legs would splay out like Bambi on the ice.
It was pitiful to watch. There were several times when she just went 'phoomph' down on the floor and just stayed there. She looked completely uncomfortable because she couldn't settle herself into her bed like she normally does. She just landed and that was it.
She had trouble getting herself back up when she landed and I lifted her a few times. For a dog that hates to be touched, she tolerated it pretty well.
In addition to the 'phoomphing', she was having episodes of confusion. She would get herself stuck in a corner and couldn't figure out how to get herself out.
At one point, she woke me up because she was on the floor with her face in the corner of the headboard. I think she got up from her bed with the intent to pace a little. I'm not sure how that turned into her getting stuck in a corner, but it did. She was whining because she couldn't understand why continuing to push her face into the wall did not equal getting unstuck.
I can't even begin to tell you how much my heart broke at that very moment.
I lifted her up and pointed her in the right direction, fighting back tears as I did so. When she righted herself enough to pace, she paced out into the living room.
After a few minutes, I no longer heard the jingling of her tags. I also had not heard a 'phoomph'. When I went out to look for her, I didn't see her anywhere.
Upon closer inspection, I saw her lying on the floor under the dining room table. She didn't make a sound. It looked as though she had been pacing over there, on her normal pacing path, and got stuck. Since no one was there to free her, she just flopped.
Again, my heart broke as I lifted her up and got her situated.
We had a couple more incidents like that before she finally got settled into her bed.
She had a vet appointment this morning and we shared all of this with her. The vet thinks she is just losing some of her brain function due to aging. She suggested some supplements that might help. She is also starting her on anti-inflammatory medication for the hip and back end pain.
I realize that these things might not get better. They might get much worse for my Princess. All we can do is try our best to make her comfortable and help her maintain the quality of life she deserves.
Oh God.
I can't even believe those words are being uttered. This is so not what I was hoping for my Princess. She has been through so much in her life that we don't even know about. I don't want her to have to experience any more pain or struggle.
She's going to have good days and bad days from now on. The medications will help and I can only hope and pray that they work well enough to allow her to feel like herself again.
I ask that you hope and pray right along with me.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Random ramblings and reinforced borders.
So, I posted this on facebook earlier this morning...
I'm watching Intervention on Netflix. The next episode is a guy who's addicted to video games and a girl who's addicted to food. This one is going to be good. I'm going to grab some popcorn, oreos and a hot fudge sundae and watch it on one of MB's Xboxes.
Then, I proceeded to eat my lunch followed by a mini ice cream sundae. Self fulfilling prophecy? Maybe.
What else has been happening in my life?
Obviously the fat fighting has not been going so well. MB and I have not run all week. I haven't done Slim in 6 all week. It's been bad.
Actually, I did walk with the pup last week. I was visiting my family and I took the pup around the block with me. It didn't go well. My poor pup is definitely slowing down in her older years.
I'm not really ready to talk about that though. Tears and keyboards don't mix well.
Moving on...
We're putting up a new fence this weekend. By "we", I mean MB and the boys. I'll be supervising from a safe and comfortable distance. Probably from the lawn chair. Probably with a cold mug of beer. Supervisors have certain needs.
A fence is really going to change our lives. We will no longer have to worry about the intrusive neighbor peering over the fence to look into our yard. Yes, he does that. Yes, it's usually when I'm half naked on the couch watching Netflix. Yes, it skeeves me out.
We will no longer have to worry about the hooligans coming over the puny little excuse for a fence that we have now. Unless they suddenly learn how to scale a 6 foot fence, which I'm sure they will. The appeal of fishing in that overgrown excuse for a pond is just too much for them to resist.
I don't get it, but whatever.
As an aside, I'm still watching Intervention and I'm pretty sure the director of this rehab facility is addicted to tanning. Maybe she should start turning that wisdom inward?
So, in addition to a new fence, not much else is happening.
We're getting hitched in 101 days. Thankfully, theknot.com provides a countdown for me just in case I forget that I need to be freaking the hell out. Thanks Knot. Thanks a lot.
It's cool. I'm not freaking out. I'm actually getting excited. There's still a lot of crap to do and a lot of money to spend, but it'll be so worth it. We are going to have a blast.
I don't know what else to chat about. It seems that I had a bunch of clever things to say, but they all left my head.
Now, I have to go close the back door because the flies are taking over my house. I know the pup likes to wander in and out, but this is ridiculous. I also have to go close the toilet lid because apparently her wandering in and out makes her thirsty for toilet water. Gross.
Later, peeps.
I'm watching Intervention on Netflix. The next episode is a guy who's addicted to video games and a girl who's addicted to food. This one is going to be good. I'm going to grab some popcorn, oreos and a hot fudge sundae and watch it on one of MB's Xboxes.
Then, I proceeded to eat my lunch followed by a mini ice cream sundae. Self fulfilling prophecy? Maybe.
What else has been happening in my life?
Obviously the fat fighting has not been going so well. MB and I have not run all week. I haven't done Slim in 6 all week. It's been bad.
Actually, I did walk with the pup last week. I was visiting my family and I took the pup around the block with me. It didn't go well. My poor pup is definitely slowing down in her older years.
I'm not really ready to talk about that though. Tears and keyboards don't mix well.
Moving on...
We're putting up a new fence this weekend. By "we", I mean MB and the boys. I'll be supervising from a safe and comfortable distance. Probably from the lawn chair. Probably with a cold mug of beer. Supervisors have certain needs.
A fence is really going to change our lives. We will no longer have to worry about the intrusive neighbor peering over the fence to look into our yard. Yes, he does that. Yes, it's usually when I'm half naked on the couch watching Netflix. Yes, it skeeves me out.
We will no longer have to worry about the hooligans coming over the puny little excuse for a fence that we have now. Unless they suddenly learn how to scale a 6 foot fence, which I'm sure they will. The appeal of fishing in that overgrown excuse for a pond is just too much for them to resist.
I don't get it, but whatever.
As an aside, I'm still watching Intervention and I'm pretty sure the director of this rehab facility is addicted to tanning. Maybe she should start turning that wisdom inward?
So, in addition to a new fence, not much else is happening.
We're getting hitched in 101 days. Thankfully, theknot.com provides a countdown for me just in case I forget that I need to be freaking the hell out. Thanks Knot. Thanks a lot.
It's cool. I'm not freaking out. I'm actually getting excited. There's still a lot of crap to do and a lot of money to spend, but it'll be so worth it. We are going to have a blast.
I don't know what else to chat about. It seems that I had a bunch of clever things to say, but they all left my head.
Now, I have to go close the back door because the flies are taking over my house. I know the pup likes to wander in and out, but this is ridiculous. I also have to go close the toilet lid because apparently her wandering in and out makes her thirsty for toilet water. Gross.
Later, peeps.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Extreme heat = Princessitude
When I got up a couple hours ago to start my day, it looked like it was at least 700 degrees outside.
That's why I returned to the arctic oasis that is my bedroom.
It's currently 62 degrees in here because MB has this obsession with living in Antarctica. It's out of control. Pleasantly and refreshingly out of control on a day like today, but still...out of control.
He likes to say it's because we have a Siberian Husky. 'She's from Siberia. She needs to be kept cold.'
Yeah. She's from a place called Pittsville. If you want her to feel at home, you should plant some corn, grow a mullet and get a jacked up pick-up with a rebel flag painted on the window.
That's what she needs.
I also kind of need it now, because I want to see MB with a mullet. And a stache.
Anywho...I actually do need to get up because I have to work tonight. I also need to get my fat ass up to do some exercise. I also need to pay my bills...and finish the laundry I started three days ago...and go to the grocery store to restock the very empty fridge...and find some freakin food because my belly is growling and the fridge is very empty.
Holy nuts! That's a lot to do.
I just hate to wake the sleeping princess. She's been zonked out on the floor beside me all morning. No efforts to get up have been made. At all.
Would you want to wake from such a slumber?
Yeah. Me either.
This concerns me a little because I'm pretty sure she has to pee. It's been over 10 hours since she's been outside.
She's lifted her head up a couple times this morning. She even got up to reposition herself before zonking out again. I checked a few times to make sure she was breathing. That dog is one sound sleeper!
I'm wondering if maybe she got up in the night and decided to just pee on the carpet. Or if there is going to be a wet spot on her bed when she does actually rise from the dead.
These are the things you have to worry about with a senior dog. Especially a senior dog who is super lazy.
I hate saying 'senior dog'. It makes me cry.
Dammit. This post has taken a sad turn. I'm getting the hell up before I start crying hysterically and hugging the dog, which I'm sure she won't appreciate.
Later peeps.
Stay cool out there.
That's why I returned to the arctic oasis that is my bedroom.
It's currently 62 degrees in here because MB has this obsession with living in Antarctica. It's out of control. Pleasantly and refreshingly out of control on a day like today, but still...out of control.
He likes to say it's because we have a Siberian Husky. 'She's from Siberia. She needs to be kept cold.'
Yeah. She's from a place called Pittsville. If you want her to feel at home, you should plant some corn, grow a mullet and get a jacked up pick-up with a rebel flag painted on the window.
That's what she needs.
I also kind of need it now, because I want to see MB with a mullet. And a stache.
Anywho...I actually do need to get up because I have to work tonight. I also need to get my fat ass up to do some exercise. I also need to pay my bills...and finish the laundry I started three days ago...and go to the grocery store to restock the very empty fridge...and find some freakin food because my belly is growling and the fridge is very empty.
Holy nuts! That's a lot to do.
I just hate to wake the sleeping princess. She's been zonked out on the floor beside me all morning. No efforts to get up have been made. At all.
Would you want to wake from such a slumber?
Yeah. Me either.
This concerns me a little because I'm pretty sure she has to pee. It's been over 10 hours since she's been outside.
She's lifted her head up a couple times this morning. She even got up to reposition herself before zonking out again. I checked a few times to make sure she was breathing. That dog is one sound sleeper!
I'm wondering if maybe she got up in the night and decided to just pee on the carpet. Or if there is going to be a wet spot on her bed when she does actually rise from the dead.
These are the things you have to worry about with a senior dog. Especially a senior dog who is super lazy.
I hate saying 'senior dog'. It makes me cry.
Dammit. This post has taken a sad turn. I'm getting the hell up before I start crying hysterically and hugging the dog, which I'm sure she won't appreciate.
Later peeps.
Stay cool out there.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The opportunistic Siberian Princess.
So, the backyard gate lost all of it's integrity on Friday and fell completely over. I realized this when it had been a half hour or so since I heard the jingling of the pup's tags.
When we are home, we leave the back door open so she can go in and out and wander around in the yard. She usually makes her rounds out there and then comes inside to make sure I'm still here and then back outside and lather, rinse, repeat.
If you don't here the jingly tags, something is wrong. She's always pacing back and forth somewhere. Jingly dog tags are the background noise of our lives.
Anywhereismylittlefuzzygirl, I looked outside to see what kind of trouble she had gotten into - fallen into the pond, got stuck behind a bush, etc. Sometimes problem solving isn't one of her strengths.
Of course, when I saw the collapsed gate, I freaked a little and yelled for MB. We both checked the yard and house one more time before starting our search. Since our pup is deaf and therefore doesn't always come when you call, she could've very well been somewhere ignoring us.
She wasn't.
We both knew she hadn't really run away so much as she just wandered away. She wouldn't have put any effort into escaping, but when presented with an opportunity to escape, she would definitely take it.
"Ooh. This is new. I wonder what's out here. Ooh, a bird. Ooh, a cat. Ooh, I smell garbage."
Yeah. She could be anywhere.
He took the car in one direction and I went on foot in the other direction.
I'm not really sure why I was calling her name...considering the deafness and all. Sometimes problem solving isn't one of my strengths.
I decided to make my way to the park, taking the path that Skye and I always take for our walks. It made sense to me.
As I walked and called her name and walked some more, I started to get a little panicked. My poor deaf, autistic princess was out in the wild...anything could've happened.
I had a mental picture of her being taken in by the cat hoarder or some other such annoying neighbor. In my head, she was already pacing through their home, denying them affection and waking them up at 3am to go outside with her stinky dog breath in their face. Before you know it, she'd be eating all their tissues and farting while they tried to watch tv.
My poor princess. No one else would ever accept your ways like we do.
As I made my way to the park, MB comes pulling up in the car. I wasn't sure what to expect, but prepared for the worse, because I'm nothing if not a drama queen when it comes to the pup.
As he pulls up, I see her furry little butt in the back seat.
Thank God.
He said he found her around the corner, sniffing a neighbor's garbage cans.
Really? You gain freedom for an hour and this is what you do with it?!
Omg.
We took her home where we both tried to give her kisses and love on her a little, but she wasn't having it. She's stingy with her affection and she wasn't feeling it at that moment. She just turned her nose up at us and wondered why the hell we weren't letting her back into the yard.
The fence is now propped up by a couple rocks from pond, a bucket full of rain water and trash can full of yard waste.
I'd like to see her breach that.
HA!
When we are home, we leave the back door open so she can go in and out and wander around in the yard. She usually makes her rounds out there and then comes inside to make sure I'm still here and then back outside and lather, rinse, repeat.
If you don't here the jingly tags, something is wrong. She's always pacing back and forth somewhere. Jingly dog tags are the background noise of our lives.
Anywhereismylittlefuzzygirl, I looked outside to see what kind of trouble she had gotten into - fallen into the pond, got stuck behind a bush, etc. Sometimes problem solving isn't one of her strengths.
Of course, when I saw the collapsed gate, I freaked a little and yelled for MB. We both checked the yard and house one more time before starting our search. Since our pup is deaf and therefore doesn't always come when you call, she could've very well been somewhere ignoring us.
She wasn't.
We both knew she hadn't really run away so much as she just wandered away. She wouldn't have put any effort into escaping, but when presented with an opportunity to escape, she would definitely take it.
"Ooh. This is new. I wonder what's out here. Ooh, a bird. Ooh, a cat. Ooh, I smell garbage."
Yeah. She could be anywhere.
He took the car in one direction and I went on foot in the other direction.
I'm not really sure why I was calling her name...considering the deafness and all. Sometimes problem solving isn't one of my strengths.
I decided to make my way to the park, taking the path that Skye and I always take for our walks. It made sense to me.
As I walked and called her name and walked some more, I started to get a little panicked. My poor deaf, autistic princess was out in the wild...anything could've happened.
I had a mental picture of her being taken in by the cat hoarder or some other such annoying neighbor. In my head, she was already pacing through their home, denying them affection and waking them up at 3am to go outside with her stinky dog breath in their face. Before you know it, she'd be eating all their tissues and farting while they tried to watch tv.
My poor princess. No one else would ever accept your ways like we do.
As I made my way to the park, MB comes pulling up in the car. I wasn't sure what to expect, but prepared for the worse, because I'm nothing if not a drama queen when it comes to the pup.
As he pulls up, I see her furry little butt in the back seat.
Thank God.
He said he found her around the corner, sniffing a neighbor's garbage cans.
Really? You gain freedom for an hour and this is what you do with it?!
Omg.
We took her home where we both tried to give her kisses and love on her a little, but she wasn't having it. She's stingy with her affection and she wasn't feeling it at that moment. She just turned her nose up at us and wondered why the hell we weren't letting her back into the yard.
The fence is now propped up by a couple rocks from pond, a bucket full of rain water and trash can full of yard waste.
I'd like to see her breach that.
HA!
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