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You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Archive for the ‘it's all about me’ Category

yuri gararin

Thursday, November 23rd, 2017

Happy Thanksgiving, guys.

I have like 1000 things to be thankful for, and I know it. Literally just the fact that I get to not go to work tomorrow, right? And that I could afford to buy a turkey who was raised responsibly (before he was killed for us to eat). And that all three of my doggos, my parents, and Crockett are going to be around me all day.

Also, I’m making my stuffing into WAFFLES. HOW CAN I NOT BE THANKFUL.

I mean, yes my feet hurt from cooking all afternoon. Yes, Hulu is forcing a really long wait between episodes of You’re the Worst. Yes, Thanksgiving is “a holiday-length ode to white supremacy and an undeserved celebration of a band of uptight zealot weirdos who should have been allowed to freeze to death.

But still. I’m a lucky bitch and I know it. I hope you are too, whatever that means to you. LOVE.

Sunday Talky 11/18

Sunday, November 19th, 2017

Filmed at the dog park while walking through gravel – sorry! Why didn’t I stand still? Why didn’t I show you more of the dogs or how pretty the mountains looked? Why is it Sunday already, what happened to Saturday? Questions for the ages.

pink sweater

Monday, November 13th, 2017

I have a shopping problem.

Not a huge one. Not a shopaholics anon one, or even a ‘forget to open boxes that come in the mail’ (like one of my sweet coworkers) one.

More, just, when I love something I start looking for more clothes that are exactly like it. Like, if I love my pink off the shoulder Free People sweater (which oh, I do, I wore it on Saturday and it’s just the best), that means I would love having LOTS of pink sweaters and should really just dive into the pink sweater pit.

For pink sweater, insert ruched maxi dress, or menswear shirts or tee shirts with words on them (<- actually that one is potentially a real problem) or sweatpant style yoga pants or … etc. Ad infinitum. Many things. You get the point.

So, if I love the pink sweater and I buy more sweaters like it, you know what happens? I wear the new pink sweaters, sometimes, and I also wear the tee shirts with words on them or the menswear or the dresses sometimes, and I never end up wearing the actual pink sweater that I liked the very most. I end up saving the one that I loved because if I have alternatives, why wear out the best one? Save the best one!

But then, of course, cut to two years later. The new pink sweaters are worn out or dumb, the favorite pink sweater is pristine … and I’m tired of pink sweaters and have moved on to green henleys or something.

See? It’s a problem.

consider the situation handled

Saturday, November 11th, 2017

I have a favorite dog.

I’m only writing that because I’ve confirmed over and over that Maida, Agnes and Dean can’t read by leaving secret messages on pieces of paper all over the house. They all say ‘if you can read this, please don’t eat this piece of paper’.

Spoiler: all paper gets eaten. (Like, honestly, all of it. I had to switch to lidded trash cans everywhere because the number of tissues that were just fully consumed cannot have been healthy.) So, the notes also got eaten. Ergo: the dogs can’t read.

(What’s that you say? Literally everyone knows dogs can’t read? My friend J-‘s bird sings and yells at wild animals who live outside her house, so, you know, animals. (This is where I shake my head like ‘you know what I mean’ instead of continuing to explain what is, let’s be honest, is a nonsensical point.))

I love Dean the most. I just DO. He also loves me the most, which might have something to do with it.

Agnes is pretty fond of Crockett (and he gave her two kongs the last time he put the dogs in their forts – the second kong belonged with Dean so Crockett also obviously has favorites). My college friend C- is also a big Agnes fan. Agnes might be the favorite of people who want their dogs to be DOGS, you know? She’s only 25 pounds, but she’s as close to a lab as you’ll get in this house.

Maida … oh, Maida. Maida is a disaster area who wants to go on walks but hates walking, who needs meds every eight hours, and who loves anyone who is willing to sit still long enough for her to climb up and settle down on a lap, back, chest … whatever. She’s not picky. (She is – she hates almost all men. In my life she’s not exposed to many new dudes, though, and the ones who’ve known her for awhile just sit still and try not to talk too loud when she’s around. There are maybe seven men she doesn’t bark at, so if you’re one of them, congrats!) Maida is the favorite of anyone who loves a good snuggle.

Deaner. Oh, my baby boy. He just thinks I’m the tits, and you cannot underestimate what that’s worth. He likes me, and it’s really nice to be reminded you’re likable sometimes. Plus, he loves adventures and cookies, and also the couch and walking around the same block we always walk around. He jumps at the door every time I get the leash, and climbs up on anything that’s available to climb on. He’s … ugh, he’s my favorite.

Do people with kids feel like this? If they do, they don’t write it down on the internet. Key diff between kids and dogs even I know – eventually kids CAN read! Imagine finding an old blog post where your mom says ‘eh Emma’s ok but her brother is just the BEST’. Right, parents do not do that.

I love them very much, all three of them. They’re my pack.

(But at heart, I might be a one dog kind of girl, and Deaner is my guy.)

the doorknob

Thursday, November 9th, 2017

The house is brand new. I have a whole category about it.

And recently, I can’t open the front door from the inside.

The door has a deadbolt but no doorknob lock, so don’t go thinking that’s it. (I mean, don’t put it beyond to me to repeatedly try and open a locked door – that’s the first thing I’d expect as well. In this case, though, physically impossible.) It’s just, sometimes, the doorknob refuses to be turned. It’s kind of like someone is holding it from the other side, but the other side is one of those press down latch things.

It has to be a house pressure-change thing, right?

Important to the theory that’s coming: weird men have been knocking on the door in the afternoons I’ve been home. I haven’t *answered* the door, because they are weird men and I’m a woman smaller than a Great Dane, but … they’ve been here. I sort of think they’ve been politicians cause it’s that time of year, but one was wearing a bright blue satin jacket and was the height of the whole door. The height he can’t help. but the jacket would be an off brand choice for a local politician, yeah?

So, my working theory is that I have a ghost and he’s protecting me from the strange men by holding the door shut.

(I didn’t say it was a good theory. If it is a ghost, the fact that he doesn’t understand that I can also leave through the back door or the garage means he’s kind of a busted one.)

Crockett is almost never here or awake when I’m trying to go out the front door (dog walks, mostly), so my problem is unsubstantiated. He actually is able to leave through the front door. So … something is wrong with either my house or my ghost. I’m not sure which I prefer.