Dog-gone It!

This time I really mean it. I am going to keep this s.o.b. short! Especially with how early I was up this morning. Let's begin.

So as you can probably tell from the title, this one's going to be about my sweet little angel face, Georgia. Or "dog" as I like to call her when she's pissing me off. Like lately!

The thing I've noticed about Georgia is that she goes through peaks and valleys, behavior-wise. For about 80% of the time we've had her she has been surprisingly good: doesn't whine for our food at the dinner table, doesn't bark, and hasn't had an accident in the house for weeks. It's just that pesky 20% of bad behavior she dips into that drives us crazy. Luckily it usually only lasts about a week before she's back to being very good. But what a week...

A few days ago, while Joe and I were inside watching a DVD, he received a message from someone saying that he had our dog. We both looked at each other, and realized we hadn't checked on the dog, naturally assuming she was just frolicking in the yard, as usual. Oh this happened on Sunday, the same day I felt like ultimate crap but put on a brave front because we were going to the Renaissance Fest with friends and I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer.

I had been trying to nurse my hangover the whole morning, but the second Joe told me about the message I sprang (well, quickly hobbled is more accurate) to my feet and tried to find some shoes. It just so happened that our friends were meeting us at our house and they arrived around the same time as our dog-rescuer did. We thanked him profusely and he explained where he had found her.

Apparently she had either slipped through a gap in the fence or simply hopped over it, I assume in pursuit of a squirrel. He said she seemed to be trying to figure out a way back in, as she stayed near the fence. This was a small amount of relief to me, since the road right next to our sidewalk tends to get busy and cars often surpass the speed limit by a few miles.

We were happy to have her home, but once again our trust was broken with her. Joe had spent a good deal of time and money fencing in the rest of the walkway, but the reward was that Georgia could run and play outside without much supervision. Now we were both panicky and paranoid.

The next day as we were getting ready for work we let her out to go to the bathroom. Joe and I were talking about something and as he turned his back to check on her he noticed her trying to squeeze her body through the gap at the bottom of the gate. He shouted at her and immediately she pulled back out. This is, we guess, how she must've gotten out, but we're still not 100% positive.

Then I came home from work, walked into the kitchen and couldn't believe my eyes. She had not only been on our small make-shift card-dinner table, but she had completely destroyed the fabric on top. I walked in to find the top of the table in complete and utter shreds. As if that wasn't enough, I then walked back into the living room and spied a fresh, wide, wet pee stain on the rug.

The next day I stayed a little late at work, but Joe texted me to tell me that the place was fine but she had still peed on the rug. Later that night (or Wednesday morning I should say), Georgia woke us both up by suddenly tearing down the stairs and whining. This is unusual for her, as normally if she wants to go out to go to the bathroom she just comes to my side of the bed and whines a little till I wake up. It's not strange to see her animated in the morning, but hyper and hysterical is.

I thought maybe it was because I wasn't being as diligent as I had been with taking her for a run with me, so I made it a point, after dinner with Ash, to tear-ass home to get in a run with her. Unfortunately, with the days getting shorter, it's a rush against time before it's too dark to go. I made it just before it got pitch black, and though it wasn't as long as our runs usually are I still figured I had worked out alot of her pent up energy.

Sure enough this morning she tore off downstairs again, at around 5:00 a.m. I also wanted to try and curb her bladder so I gave her water to drink with her food, but took it away when I left for work. Sadly, when I walked into the house again, there was the yellow puddle, right by the door. I raised my voice a bit, but even without that she knew she had done wrong. Btw, does it make me the most evil person to admit that I think she looks the damn cutest when she's scared or guilty? Her big ears flatten against her head and that curly-cue tail unfurls between her legs. It's so hard to be mad at her when all I want to do is scoop her up and cuddle. But then she's basically learning that peeing by the door is A-OK. I'm not sure what to try next, but the week IS almost up, so maybe we're on our way to the peak.

I'll keep you posted. Until then, goodnight!

Teenage Mutant Ninja Teeth

Ok, I PROMISE this one's gonna be short. My back aches and I don't know how long my computer will last. So let's get right to it.

Even with having a shortened day, it still seemed to take forever. Why is that? Why does it so often feel like the half days are twice as long. Oh well, eventually 2:30 rolled around so I gathered my stuff and headed out. I was going to try and stay longer but I wisely chose to err on the side of caution (and logic) in case I got lost on my way and left a little earlier.

In case anyone forgot, a few weeks ago I met with a dentist who advised I consult an oral surgeon as to whether or not my wisdom teeth would need to come out. I had immediately brightened at the prospect of not having to go through that oral torture, thinking no one ever got a reprieve from that. She handed me the X-rays to show the doctor and then I'd come back the following week to fill a cavity and I'd let her know what they said. I called and made the appointment, and prayed the doctor would tell me what I wanted to hear.

When I came into the office the woman behind the desk handed me paperwork to fill out and when I had finished I handed it back to her. I didn't feel like flipping through a magazine, so instead I took in the sights of the office. It differed quite drastically from the homey feel I got from the dentist's office, with their plush chairs and warm light. Instead, this place reminded me of a hotel lobby. Elegant but cold and impersonal. I shifted slightly in my chair, trying to readjust my ancient pink shirt with the hole at the bottom and peasant-like slipper shoes, just to fit in more. Even as I walked back and forth to the front desk I felt bad as my too-long jeans scraped the bottom of the floor with every step.

Again, I was the only person waiting so it didn't take long before my name was called. I followed a scrub-clad girl to a small office where she took my blood pressure and then the X-rays I had brought with me. As she stuck them into the square of light to get a better look, she let out a semi-startled exclamation.

"Oh!", she said. I knew what she was surprised by, but I still waited a second.

"You're noticing my extra wisdom tooth?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, you do have one...huh", she said.

"Yeah, and the kicker is that my sister is missing one," I said. She turned around to face me, and asked if we were twins.

"No," I said, "but close. 13 months apart." She remarked again at the oddness of that, and then went to find the doctor. Soon he came in and confidently stuck his hand out to shake mine. The warmth of his palm had barely left mine before he quickly replied, "Yup, you need them all out."

Crestfallen, I tried to point out what Dr. Baig, my dentist, had which was how close my wisdom teeth were to the nerves in my mouth.

"Oh, they're always like that. That's not a problem." He then began explaining to me what to expect from the procedure and healing time. I tried to listen intently though I was still coming off the shock at how quickly hope had been ripped out of my hands. When I had asked my questions I went back out to the front office to pay for my visit. A visit that literally lasted less than 20 mins.

"$55, please," the woman said. She then did some calculations and showed me what to expect, financially. I got another whole dose of shock and apprehension. Not only would I have to get all 5 (5?! I'm a freak) taken out, but I'd have to shell out over $1,000 to do it!

It doesn't seem right; I'm basically paying someone a grand to fix something that isn't even bothering me. Oh well, I guess it's preventative. I just hope the pain would be worth this prevention.

Anyway, my insurance for surgeries doesn't kick in till November anyway, so I have some time to figure it all out. Ok, chickees that's it for me. See you back here 2morrow.

Ghosts of Halloweens Passed

WTF, I hate how the damn cursor on this laptop occasionally becomes possessed and takes it upon itself to suddenly scroll all the way down the screen. Or else is mysteriously clicks on the wrong shortcut link in the search and then takes forever before I can change it to the right one. Ugh.

Anyway, enough of that blathering. My nose is drippy, my throat is dry and coughy, and I'm carefully dangling my feet away from the (still) wet urine spot from Georgia's newest accident on the rug, so I'm gonna try to keep this one brief.

My sweet and loyal cousin reminded me that telling stories about our family would sustain this blog for years, so since I hadn't any other ideas in mind for tonight, I'll go for one of those. And since it is almost Halloween, I thought I'd offer some of my favorite Halloween memories from my youth.

Despite the fact that I'm a total wuss when it comes to scary things, I actually really love Halloween. It's the holiday that holds some of my favorite childhood moments. Ones that still brings a smile to my face are the choices of costume I made every year. Thanks to my mom's genius behind a sewing machine, alot of my costumes were homemade, and we aren't just talking witches and ghosts. The most interesting costume she ever made was a large shiny red Coke can costume which my sisters and I all took turns wearing at one point or another. Why someone wanted to be a Coke can, I have no idea, but it made for some interesting pictures (and guessing games as to what we were). My favorite costume, however, was my very dapper, very cheerful, very hot-pink, flamingo costume. No, not flamenco...flamingo. I had a faze where I was obsessed with these birds. So much so, apparently, that I had to be one. Any psychiatry fans wanna take a crack at that one?

The other great thing about Halloween for me was the tradition in all of it. Every year, from kindergarten to 8th grade, our elementary school would close classes early, gather together by grade, and then march around our town. Now, I come from a pretty tiny town so it wasn't a huge deal. But it was still pretty exciting to us; walking around main street with our parents and family members crowding the sidewalks waving their hands excitedly and waiting for the perfect shot with their cameras. We eventually walked all the way back to the school where all the students milled about excitedly as they announced the winners of the best costumes in each grade. Every year I felt my heart bob with a little hope that I might be called, but every year I was passed over. I mean, what were they thinking...I was a flamingo princess, people! Can't get more unique than that. It didn't matter because after that the trick-or-treating began.

My friends and I always knew which houses to hit and which to not bother. We had a strict curfew in town so it was like a limited candy-spree. We dodged to this house of that, sometimes splitting up to see which houses delivered what. The best trick-or-treat house was Mrs. Sague's. She was known to not only have name-brand stuff, but the actual regular sized. She was (or is, I guess) such a nice woman and I always got upset when I heard that some asses would egg her house or put toilet paper in her trees during mischief night. Some people are assholes even in youth.

Of course, once the timer had gone off (a.k.a. it was officially nighttime), we all went back to our respective houses. Now it became all business. For a few special years my sisters and I were all of the age of not just trick-or-treating, but trick-or-trading. As soon as we had all come home we'd go into one room pour out our loot, begin categorizing it in terms of value, and begin the trade-off. Wall Street has never seen such dedication and determination. I'm even fairly certain Beck had even come over once or twice for these candy transactions. And actually, it was with Beck that I had one of my favorite specific Halloween memories.

One year I had decided to visit my cousin in her town, which was right next to ours, to do some last-minute trick or treating there. I think it maybe was because they had an extra hour or something, but in any event I showed up at her house, along with a few of her schoolmates. We began seriously trying to get whatever last minute trick-or-treating we could done, but eventually we were all content with just walking around the dark town all by ourselves, chatting and feeling as if the night and town was for us. I don't remember how, but suddenly we all began singing Christmas carols. We must have been quite the sight; witches, pirates, or whatever else we were dressed as loudly singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" in October.

I've had plenty more pleasant Halloween memories, one of which was when I met Joe. But since we have some time still till Halloween (and since this baby is getting lengthy), I'll leave you with those for now. Until tomorrow friends!

Checked Out

*Sniffle, sniffle* *Hack, hack*. Goddamnit. I hate being one of those people constantly complaining about their ailments, but I'd like to catch a freaking break please (instead of a freaking cold). Oh well, it's probably just what I deserve after drinking a bottle of wine myself. Joe took the liberty of pointing out the obvious.

"You should know yourself by now. You get hammered after half a glass. You really should've just had one". Yes, truer words have never been spoken. But at any rate, onto tonight's post, which was also suggested by Joe.

So as I alluded to just now, I woke up this morning feeling a bit sickly. I noticed it on Sunday, but again, as I mentioned, I was simply chalking it up to mere hangoveritis. I was hoping the headachey, throat sorey, nose drippy feelings would have dissipated. No such luck. And on a Monday, too.

Thankfully my day at work was pretty much the usual. An old fremp stopped by with her baby son and we all went for a little walk, which brought about a nice break in the day. But eventually it was time to get back to work, so we waved a goodbye to our former fellow fremp and walked back upstairs.

Every so often my eyes would shift to the little clock on the bottom screen. 1:45 p.m. My mind went to the three things I wanted to get done today...1.) Grocery shop 2.) Stop by the farmer's market for fresh apples 3.) Take the dog for a run. As soon as it was the end of the day, I mustered up my snotty and dazed self, and went to my first errand.

Wegmans is a great place for groceries. Their selection is incredible and their prices are hard to beat. However, the problem with Wegmans is that EVERYBODY wants to shop there. And apparently, Monday is the official Baltimorean food-shopping day, because everyone and their mother seems to show up on that particular day.

I had gotten a little bit of a head start (shhh, don't tell the office), so I managed to find a parking spot and cart without any hassle. I was also relieved to not have that many items on my list; just some basics like milk and juice but what I really wanted was one of their rotisserie chickens. They taste great, their cheap, and (if I really am getting a cold) I can use the carcass for some homemade chicken soup. I was all set.

I happened by the cold/flu section, and thinking I might as well prepare myself (or Joe) grabbed a bag of throat lozenges and cold medicine. I went about the rest of my list pretty quickly and then it was on to the chicken. I walked over to the check-out aisles, where the chickens are usually found...and there were none.

I figured maybe they just hadn't put them out yet so I pushed my little cart over to where the full meat section was. I noticed a woman cleaning the case and approached her. Now another thing I usually love about Wegmans is their employees. I swear the majority of times I've visited the people could not be nicer or more relaxed. So, I waited a second for her to ask me if she could help me (which I really do love when employees do that. I know they really don't WANT to help me, but it breaks the ice so much nicer than having me do it). When she didn't, I asked her myself.

"Excuse me.." Again, I waited for the cheerful smile or at least encouraging voice. Instead, she barely glanced at me before continuing with what she was doing. "Are there any more rotisserie chickens coming out?" I asked as sweetly as possible.

"All out," was all she mumbled out, as she cleaned the racks.

"Ok, thanks very much..." For what, I have no idea.

Feeling now the frustration of a dinner idea down the toilet I quickly whipped together an idea and after spending a good 15 min. getting the new ingredients together I made my way BACK to the check-out aisle.

Now, I have another weird thing. I usually like to see who's working the check-out aisle before I enter their lane. Ideally I go for the 30+ women, because they don't give me sideways glances or suppressed anger when I whip out a coupon or two. Unfortunately, the shortest (and nearest) lane was being handled by a 20 something girl. Not my favorite, but it's better than a guy.

I began putting my items on the conveyor belt and noticed her shoot a sweet smile to a customer in front of me whom she had just finished up with. A good sign in my book. When it was my turn I also mentioned that I had one of those reusable bags and would like to use that as much as it could be filled, if that was ok.

She took the thing like it had snakes in it and settled it in front of her. As she began beeping the items I suddenly realized my check-card was gone. I remembered I had left in the pocket of my fleece, back in my car. The girl seemed to sense my panic as I could see out of the corner of my eye her casting an unsmiling face towards me. Thankfully I remembered I had my "in-case-of-emergency" credit card so I was able to complete the transaction. But still, I sensed a tone with that girl, like she couldn't wait to exhale a nice hearty breath of exasperation right at me.

Of course, it's possible I'm just too sensitive, but who knows...

Anyway, I could go on but this sucker is long. Maybe more tomorrow. Till Tuesday then!

Weed B Gone

Before I forget, just wanted to say hidey-ho to follower numero 8! Not sure if you are my dad Ken or my friend Ken, but either way, welcome and thanks for giving a crap!

Anyway, so just to give a rash-rehash...It's both better and worse. I haven't seen a new crop on my body in a day or two. However, they have instead chosen to appear...on my FACE! Woke up this morning rubbing my forehead and when I went to the mirror I noticed a bump on the right side of my forehead, another one just below my hair line on the left side of my forehead, one on my chin and (the kicker) right below my eye. I looked like freakin Woogie from "There's Something About Mary". They didn't itch as terribly as the ones on my actual body did (and sometimes still do) but instead looked like hive-things. I finally took some advice and used the plain Dove soap but I have no idea what the face-bumps are. So, the mystery goes on.

In any event, I wanted to mention my attacking of the weeds back on Sunday since I said I would, although thinking about it now, it wasn't all that terribly interesting. But I'll let you be the judge...

So the thing that's awesome about a yard is having basically an outdoor room. The thing that sucks about having a yard is that you have to actually maintain it. We've been having some rather soggy weather lately and Joe informed me that it's not good to mow the lawn when it's wet (as it causes the mower to buck and get clogged). And since Saturday we were wiped out from walking around Fell's Point, we decided to would work on the lawn on Sunday.

I took Georgia for a run while Joe mowed the lawn. When I got back he was just starting to do some weed whacking. Because we had never bothered with the weeds they had become quite jungle-like and overgrown. Normally it would just be a cosmetic thing, but as a neighbor informed me a while ago, we were the proud owners of some poisonous-berry weeds that were harmful to humans and possibly deadly to dogs if consumed (yikes!), so I was obsessed with chopping those down.

It wasn't long before Joe informed me that the weeds were too thick in the middle to completely cut through, so after he was finished I went about the yard picking up the weed entrails he did slice off and decided to do battle with the weeds still intact, man0 y mano. I slipped on some gardening gloves and approached my target, like Terminator. We have two patches of these berry weeds, so I decided to try the smaller one first. Luckily because of Joe's weed-whacking I was able to rip off the major strips with the evil berries still attached. Unfortunately, I was unable to rip out the whole thing, roots and all. I went over to the bigger patch, like the last level of a video game as I was about to come face to face with the Boss. I crouched down, still wearing my sloppy work-out clothes, and yanked and twisted, breaking off one arm after another. With determination in my eyes and sweat on my brow, I destroyed the invading branches that looped through the fence wiring and scooped up the clumps of berries hidden in the grass. Not to say the thing didn't put up a fight. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed watching my struggle, as I got smacked in the face by branches I lost my grip to or when I nearly slipped on my ass.

But when I stepped back to acknowledge my work, it was indeed a shadow of it's former self. In fact, the feeling of finally getting to these berry-weeds inspired me to tidy up the yard with some weed-pulling elsewhere.

The other problem I face with having a yard that's ours and yet not ours, is trying to figure out what plants are meant to be there and which are not. I began yanking at some thin-stalked plants and was astonished at how easily they came up with their roots still attached and packed with soil. It almost seemed too easy. I then became somewhat paranoid that I had just tenaciously pulled up our land lady's prize flower bed, but Joe made the good point that as long as we rented there, it was technically our yard, and as long as we hadn't planted anything in it didn't matter what we pulled out.

So that was my first hand at weed-pulling, and it really was satisfying. I may do it again...dare I say to those berry weeds, I'll be baahck?

Ain't Misunderstandin'

You ever have one of those days where it seems the way you are saying things will be misinterpreted? I'll give you a few examples...

A few days ago in the kitchen of my office I was making myself a cup of coffee when one of my coworkers walked in. We remarked briefly about some topic and I noticed him reach for one of the fundraiser candy bars another coworker brought in. I didn't happen to notice if he dropped his required dollar into the envelope and said jovially (at least I thought..), "Hey, you can't just take one of those"

My coworker looked up at me wide-eyed and simply pointed to the envelope. I laughed it off like I was kidding, and I'm pretty sure he did too. I only became paranoid about it when as we both were walking back towards our desks my fremp Les asked how he was doin and simply replied, "Good, except Kris thinks I'm a crook."

I apologized for the 5th time, explaining I was just kidding and that I was genuinely sorry. I meant to come off cheeky but I think I ended up looking like the total ass.

Another time was today in the bathroom. Les and I often go for a stroll around the building for some fresh air and exercise, and when I told her I was going to run to the ladies' real quick first she ended up joining me. I asked how her project was going and she explained that suddenly she felt she was on a deadline. She said, "I'm going as fast as possible." To which I replied, "Yeah, that's as fast as you can go." I don't know why, but I felt like a bitch, as if I was saying, "Yeah, they shouldn't expect any faster from you.

Finally, as I was taking Georgia for our usual run we were suddenly confronted with a man and his black bichon'-looking dog. Georgia immediately wanted to get closer but the other dog was so anxious or excited it began to bark. And because it barked, Georgia began to growl and bark a little. I suddenly had to yank her back, saying something, "Now that's not how YOU act." I don't know why I care, but I became worried that I was insinuating in front of the dog-owner that I didn't want MY dog acting like his, which wasn't necessarily true. I just wanted her to be wel-behaved. Oh well.

I think I'll end there. I made the crucial mistake of cracking open a couple of Saranac brews, so now I'm super sleepy and droopy. Tomorrow- Sunday's weed tackle and why I'm insecure.

Octoberfest

Yuck, what a miserable Monday. Not that it was particularly bad, but weather-wise, it's pretty dismal: cold, rainy, dark. We seemed to have completely skipped over Indian Summer and fell right into early winter. But I think it's supposed to warm up a tad, so maybe we can dry ourselves off.

So since I can't think of a particular topic, Ill just dive into a weekend wrap-up...

We are finally into October (where the hell did September go??), but actually I really like this month. There are so many events to look forward to: Fells Point Fest, Renaissance Fest, a visit to Gettysburg, Hershey After Dark, going apple and pumpkin picking, our anniversary, etc. It's because of these annual events that I love this month so much. Joe, on the other hand, loves it because this is the month where he gets to torture me with horror movies, the only month out of the year I agree to watch them.

True to form, Joe was practically counting down the days till it was finally October and sure enough as soon as Friday rolled around, off we went to the movies. At first we stopped by Chilis for dinner but since the wait was pretty long we decided to go to the movies to get the tickets first and then come back. As Joe ran inside to get the tickets (and I quietly hoped that the movie would be sold out all opening night) I peered up at the other titles on the marquee. It was a surreal feeling. I didn't recognize 90% of the movie titles, and the ones I had heard of were simply because of passing billboards or Internet ads. I mentioned this to Joe as he jogged back to the car, victorious with two tickets in his hand (damnit).

"Well, yeah. We aren't being drilled with the information anymore." It's one of those oddities I hadn't expected when I gave up television.

Anyway, dinner was good (even tho we were late to be called) and actually the movie wasn't horrible. It definitely had its horrific moments, but it's storyline was unique and even...charming. I'm not saying I'd ever want to rent it, or even necessarily see it again, but at least it wasn't gore for gore's sake.

Saturday morning arrived and I was exhausted. It took me forever to finally get up and when I did it was because we were due to appear at our next October event, Fells Point Fun Fest. Now this is an event that we stumbled upon years ago after spending a boring afternoon trying to find something to do. We decided to just check out Fells Point for the day and happened upon rows of boutique stands and food vendors, art showcases and books for sale, and all about were hundreds of people, children, and dogs shopping and taking in the sights. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we made it a point to do it again the following year. And so we had for several years.

The one reason this year was to be so special was because we finally had a dog of our own to showcase and we were excited to let Georgia come along. So after spending a few minutes trying to get the dog prepared with her harness and leash we set off to meet up with Joe's friend Jeff and some mutual friends of theirs.

We had both been quite chilly in the morning so we erred on the side of caution by wearing sweaters and hoodies, thinking that it would be even cooler by the water. As we made our way from Little Italy to Fells Point, the sun was beating down on us directly. It wasn't long before we were trying to roll up our sleeves and cursing our clothing options.

But other than that the day was quite enjoyable. Georgia did surprisingly well meeting other dogs. Nervous, but not nippy or growly. It is weird though how you tend to take for granted your freedom without a dog. Georgia, still in her puppyhood, was pulling this way and that, stopping to sniff every butt or patch of grass she could, or else launching herself ahead to meet another dog. It was fine most of the time, however I became a bit more anxious when the crowd thickened and was forced to carry her some of the way.

In any event, the day was beautiful and after a few hours we headed home with the promise of mowing and weed-whacking the lawn on our lips, but as soon as I went upstairs, I was a goner, and promptly fell asleep.

Ok, I'll stop there to prevent this thing getting too long. Tomorrow: my battle with the weeds and my self esteem. Tune in.