Yesterday we were driving with Georgia in the back of the car. We were not going to the dog park, but then Georgia started making noises that sounded like a chicken being strangled, and we realized that we were about a mile from the dog park and she knew it. I couldn’t break Georgia’s heart by driving right past her favorite place in the whole world without stopping, so Tim took pity on us both and said that, despite his having to finish approximately 42 hours of homework by Monday morning, it would be okay if we stopped for a little while.
There were quite a few other people and dogs there when we arrived, and Georgia sprinted around happily for several minutes greeting everyone. Then she did the inevitable. Yes, she decided to run over to the one mud puddle on the whole two acres and smear herself in it. Of course she wasn’t content to merely dip her feet or dig a bit. She had to lie down and rub that wet black mud over every inch of herself. It evoked looks of sympathy from the other dog owners until she started running around shouting, “Hugs for everyone!” Then I had to do damage control to prevent an uprising by the other dog people who weren’t as thrilled with the idea of being coated with mud as Georgia was.
Ah yes, that’s my girl. Below is not a picture from yesterday, but it is a similar situation. I’m used to it.
My friend’s grandmother was Swedish, and apparently Swedish people commonly use the expression “oofdah.” You can use it when you stub your toe, or when you lift something that’s really heavy. As far as I understood, you can use it instead of grunting or groaning, and it’s a lot more fun to day than “arrrrrrrrrggggghhhh,” although “arrrrrrrgggh!” will definitely get you some attention.
We ran 15 miles this morning, and since then, the day has been one big oofdah. My legs are hurtin’. So if I have to stand up, walk faster than a meander or (heaven forbid) navigate stairs, it’s been oofdah, oofdah, oofdah.
On the bright side, I just ate a giant meal of Italian food and felt completely justified in doing so.
There is some kind of disgusting mixture of rain and snow falling from the sky right now. Mother Nature, can you hear me? I am OVER winter. Over it. Done. Please bring me some spring weather. It’s almost April.
I took this photo out the car window in Rocky Mountain National Park last July. Ms. Elk didn’t seem to mind posing at all. I love her facial expression and the way the sun is shining down over the mountains. It reminds me that summer isn’t just a figment of my imagination. Someday it will come again.
Today a friend (who will remain nameless) casually mentioned that she owns an American flag bathing suit. (You might wonder how one casually mentions something of this magnitude. To that, I say, this conversation was well within the realm of normal for us.) Then–horrors!–she told me she was thinking of donating it so that she would feel justified in getting a new suit. I think I talked her out of it. I mean, imagine the possibilities.
Sometimes I remember things that I forgot I knew. Like the story about the raccoon who lived in our chimney. Thanks to Dooce for reminding me. This story is kinda disgusting, but it’s also somewhat entertaining (I think?).
When I was about six or seven years old, we started hearing noises in our chimney. This went on for several weeks. My parents must have thought that maybe a bird had gotten down there, and no one seemed to think much of it. Then, simultaneously,–here comes the disgusting part–we began to see baby raccoons in the yard and our family room (wherein the fireplace was located) was suddenly filled with sluggish flies buzzing at the windows.
I don’t remember the exact details of how it was discovered, but one day an exterminator came and removed a dead mama raccoon and lots of garbage from the chimney. I will leave you to make the connection between that and the flies. I warned you this was disgusting.
Thankfully, my parents knew that I was a bleeding heart for animals even at such a tender age, so they live trapped the babies and took them to the woods somewhere (at least that’s what they told me. I will not question whether or not that is actually what occurred). They also installed caps on the chimney to prevent any other creatures from snatching up that now-vacant piece of prime real estate.
Another thing about this whole incident that I remember VIVIDLY is laying in bed one night and seeing a raccoon peek through the window at me. I laid awake the whole night because I swore it was scratching at the screen. Even though I was fascinated with the raccoons, I did NOT want one to come into my bedroom.
I used to purchase bulk dog biscuits, but then a batch I purchased brought an infestation of little moths into my house. Oh, it was so disgusting. After that, I vowed that I would not buy them ever again. Besides, who knows what they really put in those things? Sure, they purported to be “all natural,” but what does that even mean? Georgia deserves nothing but the best, so now I bake just for her. These are so easy to make. The part that takes the most time is cutting out all the shapes. The recipe makes a lot of biscuits, but I can’t offer an exact number because it depends on what size cookie cutters you use.
Georgia’s favorite dog biscuits
- 2 C. whole wheat or all purpose flour
- 1 C. cornmeal
- 1/4 C. wheat germ
- 2 tsp. beef bouillon powder
- 1/2 tsp. garlic powder*
Mix above ingredients in medium bowl. Then add:
- 1 large egg
- 1 Tbsp. cooking oil
- 1 C. plus 2-3 Tbsp. hot water
Mix well. Roll out on well-floured surface to 1/2 inch thickness. If you want thinner, smaller biscuits, roll out to 1/4 inch thickness. Cut out with cookie cutters or simply cut into small pieces with a knife. Place biscuits on ungreased cookie sheet and bake on center rack at 275F for approximately 2 hours or until dry and very hard. Serve and watch tails wag.
*Note: There is some debate about whether garlic is harmful to dogs, but that debate centers around large amounts. From what I’ve read, your dog would have to eat several whole bulbs (not cloves) of garlic to risk poisoning. In fact, holistic vets even recommend garlic to keep fleas at bay. The tiny amount in this recipe spread out over the number of biscuits should cause absolutely no problems, but you can omit it if you’re concerned.
I finally got the haircut that I had been thinking about forever. It turned out even better than I imagined. As soon as I laid eyes on the stylist, I knew she was going to be fabulous. And she was. I love it. It’s only a day old, so I’m still doing a double take every time I pass a mirror. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I actually have a style rather than just a length.
I’m training for my first marathon. This weekend we (wonderful boyfriend and I) did a 13 mile run. (Side note: Georgia ran nine miles. We did four miles first and then picked her up to go the rest of the way. Nine miles seems to be far enough for her.)
Something changed after this long run. I began to feel like a real runner again. I used to run a lot in high school and ran sporadically through college. Post-college, I would run for about one week each year. Now I’m back at it, and this time I think I’m here to stay.
I don’t have a runner’s figure. I’m not lean and mean. There’s a significant bulge that rides above my hips, and lets not discuss my hips themselves. I dislike the area between my belly button and my knees in general, but I’m starting to care less. I may not look like a runner, but I am one. I’m beginning to respect my body for what it’s capable of, and I’m finding that I want to feed it healthy food instead of feeding it junk (well, except jelly beans. I still want to feed it jelly beans). When I walk through the halls or up the stairs at school, I smile to myself and think, “No one knows it, but I ran 13 miles this weekend.” I may not wear a size four, but damn it, I’m in great shape. I can run 13 whole miles. How many of the skinny girls can say that?
I keep thinking that I should have started blogging a long time ago. Maybe then I’d now be a famous blogger who doesn’t have to go to law school because she makes her living by entertaining people with her witty repartee. I’ll keep dreaming.
But damn it, so much funny stuff used to happen to me. Remember when I lived in Maine in a house with eight people, three dogs, and one shower? Or how about the boss I used to have who floored me daily with his incompetence? Or what about when Georgia was a puppy and used to chew up something valuable nearly every day? That was some good blogging fodder. Now I feel like nothing interesting happens. I go to class, come home, run, eat, study, sleep, repeat.
Speaking of studying, I am putting off reading Williams v. Glash at this very moment. I was knocked out with a migraine earlier, so now it’s after midnight and I’m still not finished with my assignment for my 9am class. What else is new?
I don’t know why I put things off. I’ve been meaning to email one of my professors to set up an appointment ever since grades came out. I did very well in his class, and I’m hoping that he will write me a letter of recommendation. For some reason it stayed on my to-do list for the past two months without getting done. I don’t know what I was waiting for. I was scared to do it for some reason. Then I finally did it yesterday, and it was no big deal at all. I have an appointment to meet with him in a couple weeks. Why all the fuss?
I find myself doing this often. Another example:
I need a haircut. It’s been almost four months since my last one, so I’m way overdue for a trim, but I actually want to get quite a bit chopped off. I’ve been putting this off forever too. Every time I see a girl with cute hair, I think, “I need to make a hair appointment!” But I never do it, and I can’t explain why. Part of the problem was that I haven’t gotten a haircut around here before, so I wasn’t sure where to go. I asked around, and that problem was solved. Now I know where I want to go, but I still haven’t made the appointment. What’s my problem? I’m not scared to go through with the haircut. I’m excited for that. It’s just the whole process of calling and figuring out who to see (they have different levels of stylists there) and figuring out when. Basically, I have no excuse. I’m just trying to rationalize this behavior because it’s a recurring theme for me.
So stupid. Does anyone else have this problem?
