Monthly Archives: October 2011

My Dog is Moving to Mexico (and my heart is exploding)

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So I’ve discovered “Coffee” and “Almond Joy Creamer.”

I’m very caffeine sensitive in that it makes my heart thunder in my throat and it makes me dizzy and sometimes I feel nauseated but not exactly energetic…however if I keep moving I don’t notice the ill so much so it motivates me somehow and maybe I am sort of physically hyped but my brain wants to sleep and my body is still weak…eventually a doctor might be able to figure out why I’m so tired and weak all the time. Bleagh.

ANYWAY.

Yesterday I had a cup and I scrubbed and rearranged the entire laundry room. It’s been a disaster for over a year (I don’t own this house I’m just the live-in nanny so I don’t take the blame, and generally don’t want to go digging around their rooms but goddamn it it was so messy and I just meant to wipe down the washer and dryer but then I had to do other stuff too) and I had enough so I made it friggin’ perfect.

Last night my boss asked me to help the kids get the playroom clean-clean and not just kid-clean. Since it’s a fraggin’ blizzard outside today I figured we would have a PJ day and clean up. They both suck at it so I quickly amended the plan to “movie to keep them out of my goddamn way and I will clean up.”

So now the room is spic-and-span whatever the hell a spic is (…huh. isn’t that some sort of racial slur? What the hell does that phrase even mean? A “span” has nothing to do with cleanliness) and I’m gonna be a lot more dictatorial about it getting cleaned up right since I basically hit the “reset” button for them. Everything has a goddamn place it’s CLEARLY visible that everything can be put into a container so they better fucking stop piling things up.

Okay. Sorry. Caffeine makes me angry apparently.

I even dragged the bookshelf the 7yo had in the closet of the room he shares with his brother into the playroom so we could actually USE those books instead of just forgetting them. I nearly died because I’m a wuss and the shelf was fucking heavy. I did get revenge for their cleaning fail by gleefully making them carry all the 150+ books into the playroom for me.

Also, while I was slaving away over a hot room (haw not really we have like 6″ of snow outside and it’s still falling) I came upon a pair of handcuffs the kids have for cops’n’robbers or their sex games or whatever a 4 and 7 year old would do with handcuffs (that was funnier in my head but I don’t feel like erasing it so ENJOY THE CREEPITUDE) and my dog happened to be lying down.

Handcuffs: for when you aren’t sure if your dog hates you enough yet.

 

Oh!

Also!

While I was busily not writing for like two weeks!

I went out with my friends for the first time in months (driving to the boyfriend’s every weekend and working full time during the week has sort of fucked over my social life) and I was a horribly offensive zombie for the Denver Zombie Crawl.

I will let you chew on that and put up photos tomorrow so I can come up with a witty title and actually have something to write about.

 

So, in summary, I who never clean had coffee and it somehow made me into an OCD cleaning freak. I have a headache. My heart is beating at like 600 beats per minute and my veins are burning and I keep going to peek into the playroom and wondering why I can’t get my goddamn bedroom that neat and clean.

 

Also I’m a dick and my dog is going to kill me and move to Mexico where they don’t handcuff their dogs. She thinks. She should probably do her research.

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How Animorphs Ruined My Life

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When I was about 11 or 12 I happened upon some books that had these really cool covers that looked like a teen morphing into an animal. Being the kind of kid that judges books by their covers I went “NEAT” and grabbed eight of them.

For those unfamiliar, the Animorphs books are a huge series of books (like, 100+) focusing on a group of teens who witness an alien crash, and are given the power to morph into any animal whose DNA they absorb via touch. They’re on a mission to stop the Yeerk invasion that’s threatening to overwhelm the entire human race. Each book is written from the viewpoint of one of the characters; Jake the leader, Rachel the fighter, Marco the funny guy, Cassie the bleeding heart, Tobias the boy who stayed in his morph for too long and got stuck as a hawk. The Visser Three (later known as Visser one, for the sake of accuracy) is the main bad guy in an Andalite (alien race that is the same that gave the kids the powers look this is seriously a complicated huge world) body who spends most of his time being thwarted by the kids, and Aximili is an alien who comes to join them in their battle and in fact is the little brother of the alien who gave them their powers.

So it’s actually super badass for a young adult series and I read them like crazy. I think my mom hated them because I was begging daily to go to the library or for her to buy me the Scholastic Book Club series offering of the month. K. A. Applegate was one of my first author obsessions.

So here’s how she ruined my life.

She had Yeerks being carried around and snuck into people’s ears so they could sink into their brain and take over.

Every time I’m lying in bed and my ear itches I’m afraid a Yeerk is trying to creep in. Yes, I’m more worried about an imaginary slug than some sort of bug crawling in there (in my defense that idea freaks me out too).

She had the kids sneak into houses and pretend to be family pets so they could check to see if people were under Yeerk control.

Do you ever take a shower or go to the toilet with a dog hot on your heels? You’re, obviously, the most interesting thing in the room so where else are they going to look?

Every time my dog watches me sit on the toilet, or take a shower, or dress or undress…

I get suspicious.

I start to watch her stare me and I stare back, beginning to get uncomfortable and feel like she’s watching awfully close thanks. Then I end up getting all shy and hiding from her prying eyes and demand that she look elsewhere.

A book series has made me certain that somehow some creeper teenager has been given the power to absorb my dog’s form and take it so he can sit and watch me take a shower.

I’m certain I’m not the only one.

Fuck you, Applegate.

I own fifteen thermometers

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I’ve always been sort of a brave trooper big huge baby when sick. Mom would wrap me up in a blanket and I could watch all the TV I wanted to on the couch, and sleep as much as I wanted, and she’d make me delicious toast and anything else I could eat (my appetite is the first to go when I’m getting sick). It was like being Queen for a day.

One thing that always stuck though was the “only REALLY sick when there’s a fever” idea. I always gave myself permission to miss school if my temperature was 100. My normal temperature runs around 96.5/97 so 100 feels like I’m dying.

I caught H1N1 during our fancy Pandemic (there’s quite a story behind that) and had a 104 degree temperature…I literally felt like I needed to go to the hospital and/or was going to die.

I check my temperature all the time (I just now took it because I have a headache and it’s 99). Sometimes I know I’m about to get sick because I’ll have a high fever before symptoms start. While I’m sick I check my temperature constantly as a litmus test for how sick I can whine about being.

So, I’m a little obsessed with thermometers. The problem is I keep losing them. I’ve moved six times in the last three years and every time my thermometers vanish. Oh, they return, but never when I want them. So I keep buying new ones.

I have about fifteen thermometers squirreled away in multiple known and unknown locations. If I die and someone searches my room they’re going to wonder if I was running some sort of black-market temperature-taking operation.

I think my dog is confused about her job

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One of the ideas I came up with when I was suffering from the worst of my panic disorder was “I bet I’d feel safer if I had a big dog.” Looking back on it adopting a dog at 20 was a horrible idea, but I’m of the firm school of thought that once the commitment is made it’s for the next 12+ years …so we’re 3 in. Almost. She’s still got a month until her third birthday. Oh, yeah, I also thought it would be a good idea to buy a puppy (well at first I wanted an adult but she was suuuuch a cute puppy and she was all fluffy and snuggly and cool looking and…I’m a sucker) when what I wanted was a big protective dog. I spent the first year protecting HER. Damn it.

So anyway, back to my brilliant plan. I spent hours thinking of the cool stuff I was going to do. I was going to have a beautiful intelligent dog that walked alongside me leash or no leash. She would know when I had a panic attack and she’d come calm me down with big fluffy dog-snuggles.

Somehow I ended up with …

…this.

When I have a panic attack or am sad or am otherwise in need of my big furry companion… she rolls her eyes and walks away from me.

Dick.

When someone walks into the house, she wags her tail and peeks to see who it is. If it’s a stranger she thunders downstairs to see if they brought her food. When no one is walking into the house and there’s a creak or a rustle or someone talking outside in their own back yard, she has a complete meltdown and alerts the presses.

I don’t know about y’all, but when a dog starts freaking out the assumption is “SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE AND THEY ARE GOING TO COME KILL ME AND THOSE STUPID REPLICA ZELDA SWORDS AREN’T BATTLE READY AT ALL.” …maybe that’s just me.

She’s a big dog, about 50lbs, and I used to proudly think if a stranger came into the house with a big axe and a ski mask and whatever else a stereotypical murderer comes into houses with she would smack ’em around like a hellhound and call the cops for me and perhaps make me a cup of tea to calm my nerves while we waited.

Now I suspect if they came in and were male (she really bonds with guys instantly) and said “hi puppy!” and offered her any manner of treat she would lead them right to my room and helpfully knock me out for them to murder with a wagging tail.

So now despite having my big dog I can’t walk into a room without turning the lights on, I have to keep things crammed under my bed so no one can hide under there, and I feel defeated because I do all that while tripping over a clumsy canine who can’t seem to stop being underfoot despite standing almost thigh-high.

I get my revenge, though.

I think my body double is going to murder me

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So, I sew things sometimes. For the first few years I just sort of stitched things and pressed them up against my body staring suspiciously into the mirror. It…sort of worked, things came out reasonably well.

Finally, when I decided I was going to keep doing this, I decided I needed a dressform. Problem is those bitches are like $200 and I had -$100 to be spending. So…I got a little innovative.

I’d read about making a wig-head using duct tape, fabric, and batting so of course my innovative self thought “I can make a torso body double too!”

I wrapped myself in a roll of duct tape, nearly suffocated when I didn’t leave an allowance for expansion of my lungs, and then cut it off and stuffed it with two pounds of batting. In the end I had a duct tape replica of my torso and I felt like a freaking genius.

Thrilled with myself I admired my brilliant handiwork and stuck a shirt on it to preen at how perfectly it mirrored me.

Content with a good night’s work I retired to my laptop to screw around on the Internet instead of doing anything useful. study. screw around on the Internet instead of doing anything useful. It was at that point I started IMing a friend of mine.

“Guess what I made!” I announced, pleased with myself. I showed him a photograph of the genius creation I’d spent two hours making, and his reaction was less than enthusiastic.

Offended by his lack of admiration I began snarking. “You better appreciate my hard work” I snapped, “or I’ll send it after you.”

Then, I went too far. “I can hear it dragging itself down the hallway right now.”

 

That was it.

 

I couldn’t sleep for hours, I had to keep my overhead light on all night, and I was afraid to walk into the room where I’d left it or even out into the dark hall. Every time I heard a bump or a squeak I felt a rush of terror. After weeks of overwhelming trepidation I finally had to throw my brilliant creation out because I wanted to remember what it was like to sleep again.

I literally lived in terror of an armless, legless, mimicry of my own chest made of duct tape and stuffed with cotton batting. I still have nightmares about it.

This is why I own a big dog.

I Wish We Had a Queen

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So, for purposes of this blog, my boyfriend’s name is JC. He’s a funny guy, often we get into bantering and it’s usually amusing. I think. Maybe I’m the only one who finds it funny.

JC: Did you know it’s easier now to get to Mars than it was back in Columbus’ time to get to America?

Me: No, I didn’t.

JC: I should say I’m looking for a super expensive ball of space metal, and the Queen will fund my endeavor to Mars.

Me: But that would never work. We don’t have a Queen.

It took me a while to realize why it was weird that I thought that was the biggest flaw with his brilliant plan.