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Archive for the ‘the people I love’ Category

pupper-do’s

Tuesday, January 3rd, 2012

It’s been a stressful quarter, doggie wise.

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(Don’t worry, this picture was taken today and they’re both fine. This story does not have a sad ending.)

In late October, Cloey started shaking her head and scratching her ear. I bought some stuff to clean her ear out, but a) she hated it and b) it completely failed to help in any way.

We went to the vet.

The vet said she had an ear infection and gave me antibiotics and an in-ear steroidal cream.

He charged me half my Christmas budget, but Clo is my girl and these are the risks you take when you have pets.

Two weeks later, her infection came back.

“Oh. It appears that while we were killing the bacteria, yeast was taking over.”

I left with more antibiotics, anti-fungals, and a steroid pill because her ear was too swollen for the cream. And less money. Also? A lecture about how I should be taking care of my ten year old dog. Spoiler alert: that lecture revolved around an $800 blood and fluid workup that would ‘help us identify any future problem areas’.

I got in the car and cried on the way home from that visit. I love my dog, and when I brought her into my life as a teeny tiny puppy almost ten years ago, I effectively promised her that I would always take care of her. When she and I lived in Nederland, we had a great vet. He understood preventative care, but he also believed in prudence. The new vet, In Louisville, made me feel like I needed to go into debt just to test my girl for possible issues even though ear infection aside, she’s FINE.

Her ear infection came back. We switched vets.

The new vet told me that I should have been cleaning her ear since the second infection, that the prior vet had instructed application of the steroid cream incorrectly, and that the tests he’d recommended were simultaneously mostly unnecessary and wildly overpriced. I swear I almost hugged her. Then I gave mer a bunch of my money and took home yet another steroid cream and an acidic ear cleaning solution.

Cloey’s fine now.

Then my other dog, Maida, ate some chocolate. I thought both girls ate it, and it was a small amount, but after a few hours it became clear that Maida had eaten it alone.

By ‘it became clear’ I mean ‘Maida climbed into her toy box and started heaving her toys out at the wall, one by one, at fastball speed, and then spent several hours running up to my face and doing a dance’. It wore off.

She’s fine now.

I just want them to be healthy. I know they’re happy, but when they don’t feel good, there’s very little that I as a human can communicate to them. I can show them I love them, but I can’t say ‘hey, perhaps you shouldn’t eat everything you can find’ or ‘sweetpea, I know your ear hurts and I’m doing everything I can to fix it’.

Also? Sometimes I want them to find somewhere else to sit.

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It’s hard being one of my dogs.

Obviously.

well, that happened

Thursday, September 22nd, 2011

Today I taught my first college lecture.

It was…. um….

It definitely happened.

I don’t actually have a great sense of how it went. I left about to cry – but I cry a lot lately, so that’s not a great barometer. Hey, is there air outside? Does that mean anything? No.

We have this thing that we use in class called inkSurvey. It’s actually part of what I’m writing research project on – all 40 of the students are given tablets for the duration of each lecture and there’s a web based program where they’re able to interact with us anonymously. It’s a whole big thing.

Via inkSurvey, one of them wrote ‘be our teacher for the rest of the semester!!’. That gave me the happys, you guys.

And then?

I fucked up two problems in a row, on the board.

I don’t know. My brother and Crockett have assured me that a teacher saying ‘I don’t know’ is not an unacceptable occurrence, especially if it’s followed by ‘I’ll look at it and get back to you’. Plus, as any anxiety ridden slightly obsessive graduate student would do, I double checked what I couldn’t remember and wrote up solutions and put them on the class site when I got home. And also emailed everyone. And also spent three hours this afternoon helping with homework via email.

Basically, I think I’m a good TA.

Just – I wanted everyone to leave that class thinking ‘damn, that was awesome!’. And it didn’t happen.

P.S. It’s Crockett’s mom’s birthday! Happy birthday, mama Crockett. You’re one seriously kickass lady.

 

friends

Thursday, August 25th, 2011

Yesterday was a long, long day, but not a terrible one. I had classes and meetings and then more classes and then more meetings and then a departmental orientation, followed by a pizza party.

I attended everything but the pizza party. When the pizza boxes opened and the other students descended on them with such rapidity that I’m pretty sure several of them accidentally ate parts of the cardboard boxes, I snuck out the back.

Yesterday, while sitting in my first class, I tweeted

@dollemma Guys, I found all the girls at my school! Turns out they were hiding in statistics courses.

My first class had 13 people in it, and 9 of them were women.

More than a few of them were women who had worked for awhile and then come back to school.

It’s basically like someone custom designed some friends for me and then shoved us all into a room together. “Here. You’re all 28 (cough*giveortake*cough) and you all like math and you are all going to be sitting here, three times a week, learning the same things. You’re welcome.”

Some of them already knew each other, and one was acting as social director for those who didn’t…

and I totally ignored them.

I was trying to explain why to Crockett, but I really have nothing. It may have been shyness, honestly, or it may just have been that I had other stuff to worry about on that first day of school.

Or, it may have been that I’m damn stingy with my time and have enough friends already, thankyouverymuch.

I could have had pizza with them. But I came home and had pizza with Crockett and my girls instead.

Antisocial for the win.

come visit!

Thursday, August 18th, 2011

Did you hear that my town is the best small town in America, according to CNN Money, for the FOURTH year in a row?

I’m sure you did.

I mean, why wouldn’t you all regularly read CNN for news of the place that I live?

Anyway, here at home it feels like both a victory and sort of a joke. It was fantastic the first year, cool the second, awesome the third, and now sort of feels like it’s rigged. We are a good town, but better than every other place? Really?

Last night some of Crockett’s old friends came up to hang out, and we went to down to Main Street.

We were greeted by name in both restaurants we visited, despite having been MIA for nearly six weeks. One of the owners at our second stop called me out for not ordering my favorite dish (calamari salad for the win). The drink special was a cocktail named after the mayor’s wife. There were folks sitting on the street sipping local beers. There was a line of families and couples standing outside the ice cream shop.

I grew up in Boulder County. You know those things you say all the time to people who have never heard you say them before? The things that your friends and lovers get tired of and roll their eyes at? One of my things is ‘I’ve never lived more than 20 miles from where I live now’. (I think Crockett wants to mime gagging himself with a spoon when he hears me say it, and we’ve only been together two and a half years. I take pride in being a local, y’all.) So yeah, I grew up here. I love it here, but I don’t have a lot of experience with other places.

Maybe this is the best place in America. I can’t say for sure.

I can say it’s a pretty good place.

That’s probably all I can ask for.

welcome to the beach

Tuesday, August 9th, 2011

I’m not really a ‘water person’.

I mean, it’s pretty and all. Especially when it’s way over there. Where it can’t touch me.

I just don’t like to be wet.

You get kind of sticky. Your hair gets messy. You have to keep your clothes somewhere else so they stay dry, so you can put them back on. You have to deal with your swimsuit.

If you’re at a beach, it’s all of the above plus sand (and/or dirt) sticking to your wet self and water animals. Fishes. Leeches. Sharks. Monsters. Little crabs that bite your toes.

But a beach vacation is not, it turns out, about the water. It’s about the sand and the beer and the games and the kids chasing each other with sticks. It’s about endless cups of coffee and only getting a cell phone signal in one 10 square foot area (and a shoddy signal at that). It’s about a hotel room that was decorated so long ago that the decor has come into vogue again. (Think orange shag and avocado green accessories.) Shorts and tank tops and buffet spaghetti dinners?

The beach vacation, I can get into.

As long as no one makes me get into the water.

P.S. Crockett wanted me to remind anyone that is considering breaking into our house of two things. First, we have a housesitter. Second, you don’t know our address. Foiled again.