I am so very ready for the sickness to be over (down with the sickness?). It's at the embarrassing leaking stage now where snot explodes down the nose while both eyes (or, more often, one solitary eye) tear up and a single cough could send my whole face sideways. All of this happening at the most inconvenient time every time, like when I'm pouring water for a customer or about to hover over someone else's food. I was at Fred Meyer buying stuff that also included leg warmers and enough tea to float boats (many many boats) and the cashier said, "Sounds like you're sick."
"It's evolving," I said.
"Ahhh," he said, "it will last two more weeks."
"Don't tell me that."
"I'm just preparing you."
Thus spake the prophet Isaiah unto the children of Israel in the days of the
tribulation.
---
Also, I weary of my computer but am not even sure where to begin with replacing it. Did some cursory research yesterday and ended up on the National Park Service page for someplace called Buffalo Lake. I think. Or was it River? A nationally significant space of water.
---
Only a four-hour shift today. But caution, my love. Last time I got excited about a short and easy Friday I ended up staying on a second shift and working very late and what with my early early morning at the coffee shop tomorrow... no good, no good.
---
The apartment is ridiculous (and dogless, but let's not reopen that wound). I've been in it almost a month and it still looks more like a hobo encampment than a place I've lived in for... almost a month. The living room is presentable and put together. Half the kitchen is still in boxes, though, and the study is more of a study in despair than anything else and I need to clean the fish tank so the inherited fish won't die.
And speaking of dogless. I'm launching Plan Don't Let Baby-the-Pound-Dog Die Part 2 where I go to the church council and petition them in person and question how they could possibly worry about a barking dog in my apartment when they have forty million screaming children running loose below me who begin screaming at 6:45 a.m. and don't stop until 6 p.m.
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Friday, October 21, 2011
Sunday, July 25, 2010
psychology today
In a last ditch effort to do something productive today beyond bush-whacking around half of a lake with C. (which is what I did earlier this evening), I offer a blog post.
Side note regarding lakes: I discovered the lake this afternoon and sat on the dock with my feet in the water (since we are now experiencing summer weather after what felt like two weeks of winter, right in the middle of July) and I ate cherries and spit the stones into the lake and apparently I've accelerated or exacerbated GLOBAL WARMING or something by doing this. You know, small actions piling up over time like refuse in a porta-potty.
How do I know this? C. told me. As a result of my carelessness the lake will dry up, a cherry tree orchard will infest the remaining mud flats and a zombie desolation will rise from the entwined corpses of two rotting herons. More or less.
Anyway, while my soul worries that one out, here I am, sitting with the dogs. I. is being adorable and obedient and lying prone at my feet. I have banished T. because he was eating poop again and lord knows dog breath is bad enough without fecal matter thrown in on top. Not sure where W. is, but he's only ever in two places: foot of the stairs or under the bed. He's the type of dog that rolls over on his back every time he sees you: "You are my master. Here is my stomach. Slay me, oh great shining one, if it be your pleasure."
I started out this post thinking I would list my favorite movies. It seemed like something I should do. It was, in fact, a very important idea ten minutes ago. I'm bored with it now, but one habit of highly successful people is to see a project through to the end and not leave a whole lot of unfinished stuff shimmying about and embarrassing the family. I think I should stop reading "Psychology Today". It's a bad habit I picked up this afternoon.
Movies, my favorites. No particular order:
1. Bambi (Many's the day my Kincaid House housemates came home to find me curled up like an unhappy and slightly asthmatic baby in our bowl chair, wrapped in blankets, inches from the TV with my VHS copy of "Bambi" playing on repeat, the strains of "Love is a song that never ends" echoing through our cold and empty house. Oh college days.)
2. Lawrence of Arabia (There was that Camp when I pretended to be Prince Feisal and Ange was Sharif Ali and nobody was Lawrence because nobody else was playing because they hated joy, love and probably America)
3. Muppet Treasure Island (Some foolish person did not believe that I could sing every single song in this movie PLUS hum the instrumental interludes. Boy did I prove them wrong)
4. The Fantastic Mr. Fox (It's just so, as it were, fantastic)
5. I'm drawing a blank. Maybe 5 is not a valid number. Let's try 6.
6. All the President's Men (Whenever I'm depressed and especially delusional, I watch this movie. It relieves the angst -- "Journalism makes the world a better place after all" -- and deepens the delusion -- "Hey! I could do that!")
7. Anne of Green Gables (I cry shamelessly straight through this movie now. Years of watching it while sick with fever, flu and all other manner of enfeebling pestilence have conditioned me to respond this way. Otherwise, I can't explain myself at all.)
Okay. I'm done. I'm bored with this game.
---
On the horizon:
a. Nebraska ("Where the girls are the fairest, the boys are the squarest of any old school I knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" etc. School song. Stolen, apparently, from Gainesville, Florida. Dirty east coast lies, I say.)
b. Two reporters are leaving the paper. One goes to retire. The other goes to OPB. August is going to be busy.
c. I can't find my tuner and thus can't tune my ukulele with ease and accuracy and thus my joy is diminished. All that's left to me is a narrow bed in a strange house with a poop-eating dog.
d. Good night.
Side note regarding lakes: I discovered the lake this afternoon and sat on the dock with my feet in the water (since we are now experiencing summer weather after what felt like two weeks of winter, right in the middle of July) and I ate cherries and spit the stones into the lake and apparently I've accelerated or exacerbated GLOBAL WARMING or something by doing this. You know, small actions piling up over time like refuse in a porta-potty.
How do I know this? C. told me. As a result of my carelessness the lake will dry up, a cherry tree orchard will infest the remaining mud flats and a zombie desolation will rise from the entwined corpses of two rotting herons. More or less.
Anyway, while my soul worries that one out, here I am, sitting with the dogs. I. is being adorable and obedient and lying prone at my feet. I have banished T. because he was eating poop again and lord knows dog breath is bad enough without fecal matter thrown in on top. Not sure where W. is, but he's only ever in two places: foot of the stairs or under the bed. He's the type of dog that rolls over on his back every time he sees you: "You are my master. Here is my stomach. Slay me, oh great shining one, if it be your pleasure."
I started out this post thinking I would list my favorite movies. It seemed like something I should do. It was, in fact, a very important idea ten minutes ago. I'm bored with it now, but one habit of highly successful people is to see a project through to the end and not leave a whole lot of unfinished stuff shimmying about and embarrassing the family. I think I should stop reading "Psychology Today". It's a bad habit I picked up this afternoon.
Movies, my favorites. No particular order:
1. Bambi (Many's the day my Kincaid House housemates came home to find me curled up like an unhappy and slightly asthmatic baby in our bowl chair, wrapped in blankets, inches from the TV with my VHS copy of "Bambi" playing on repeat, the strains of "Love is a song that never ends" echoing through our cold and empty house. Oh college days.)
2. Lawrence of Arabia (There was that Camp when I pretended to be Prince Feisal and Ange was Sharif Ali and nobody was Lawrence because nobody else was playing because they hated joy, love and probably America)
3. Muppet Treasure Island (Some foolish person did not believe that I could sing every single song in this movie PLUS hum the instrumental interludes. Boy did I prove them wrong)
4. The Fantastic Mr. Fox (It's just so, as it were, fantastic)
5. I'm drawing a blank. Maybe 5 is not a valid number. Let's try 6.
6. All the President's Men (Whenever I'm depressed and especially delusional, I watch this movie. It relieves the angst -- "Journalism makes the world a better place after all" -- and deepens the delusion -- "Hey! I could do that!")
7. Anne of Green Gables (I cry shamelessly straight through this movie now. Years of watching it while sick with fever, flu and all other manner of enfeebling pestilence have conditioned me to respond this way. Otherwise, I can't explain myself at all.)
Okay. I'm done. I'm bored with this game.
---
On the horizon:
a. Nebraska ("Where the girls are the fairest, the boys are the squarest of any old school I knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" etc. School song. Stolen, apparently, from Gainesville, Florida. Dirty east coast lies, I say.)
b. Two reporters are leaving the paper. One goes to retire. The other goes to OPB. August is going to be busy.
c. I can't find my tuner and thus can't tune my ukulele with ease and accuracy and thus my joy is diminished. All that's left to me is a narrow bed in a strange house with a poop-eating dog.
d. Good night.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
#131: dogz + wine, wine + dogz
The second we hit 9 p.m., the deputy turned the scanner's volume back up to full. The expo center (host to the annual Crab+Beer+Wine Festival, 25,000 people expected to attend this year) was closing and buses and cars loaded with the loaded adults of both local and faraway lands would start to pour out to the waiting gardeners--municipal, county and state officers--a harvest of DUIs, DUIIs and all sorts of the criminal mischief attached to the drunken, belligerent disturbers of the peace.
---
Saturday...
...in which I rode a school bus for the first time in my life.
...in which C. and I embarked on a savage journey to the heart of not the American Dream, but rather the Crab+Alcohol Festival. Our burning question: Why in glory do people come to this thing by the thousands? We questioned shady characters like some guy named Gunner who convinced us we needed to try the "6 tastes of red wine for $5" deal at the Girardet booth. Fortunately, we had brought our own glasses.
After we'd had our fill of wine and crowds--highlights included sitting on the unsanitary expo center floor to share a bowl of crab bisque-y type soup, trying to convince a 13 month old party pooper child that she wanted to dance along to the live music--we went outside to catch a shuttle back to civilization. Over half an hour later, we were still waiting for the Salmon Shuttle. So we settled on something that would get us close (I believe it was the Razor Clam Shuttle, but maybe it was Halibut) and took it back to town.
The journey home involved a little used path, a slide zone where the road rolled and pushed up like an old lava pit, and a previously unknown, secret neighborhood.
---
This is what I'm doing until Friday. Taking care of these guys:
There are three of them, but Wally prefers to snake his way under coffee tables, behind couches and under beds so I haven't snapped a decent photo of him yet.
This is Iggy. She is obedient and adoring. Like all good goldens should be.
Next is Toby. Every morning, he gets the dog equivalent of Prozac. As one of his owners told me, "He's the obnoxious one. Unfortunately, he's also the smartest one."
He doesn't know what to do about the camera.
"I must be closer to youuuuuuuuuuuu."
---
Saturday...
...in which I rode a school bus for the first time in my life.
...in which C. and I embarked on a savage journey to the heart of not the American Dream, but rather the Crab+Alcohol Festival. Our burning question: Why in glory do people come to this thing by the thousands? We questioned shady characters like some guy named Gunner who convinced us we needed to try the "6 tastes of red wine for $5" deal at the Girardet booth. Fortunately, we had brought our own glasses.
After we'd had our fill of wine and crowds--highlights included sitting on the unsanitary expo center floor to share a bowl of crab bisque-y type soup, trying to convince a 13 month old party pooper child that she wanted to dance along to the live music--we went outside to catch a shuttle back to civilization. Over half an hour later, we were still waiting for the Salmon Shuttle. So we settled on something that would get us close (I believe it was the Razor Clam Shuttle, but maybe it was Halibut) and took it back to town.
The journey home involved a little used path, a slide zone where the road rolled and pushed up like an old lava pit, and a previously unknown, secret neighborhood.
---
This is what I'm doing until Friday. Taking care of these guys:
There are three of them, but Wally prefers to snake his way under coffee tables, behind couches and under beds so I haven't snapped a decent photo of him yet.
This is Iggy. She is obedient and adoring. Like all good goldens should be.
Next is Toby. Every morning, he gets the dog equivalent of Prozac. As one of his owners told me, "He's the obnoxious one. Unfortunately, he's also the smartest one."
He doesn't know what to do about the camera.
"I must be closer to youuuuuuuuuuuu."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)