Plasma TV For The Puppy

Ok I couldn't help but put this picture up. I walked around the corner out of my room this morning and this is what I saw:


Yea that's my puppy. And yes he's watching the fish in our fish tank. Nope it's not enough to watch me run around the house like an idiot trailing his toy rabbit behind me shouting "IT'S PETER COTTONTAIL TIME!" He has to watch the two fish (both roughly the size of a jellybean) swim back and forth from one end to the other of our ridiculously over sized tank.

Love you too Sam.

Stress & The Yellow Canary In The Hat

The other day I was sitting at my laptop, writing a for the blog, when I was rudely interrupted by a chirping noise - coming from my ceiling.

That's never good.

I went to investigate and found nothing. However I did discover the culprit of a very obnoxious - albeit entirely separate - tapping noise. Mr. Woodpecker seems to have opened up spare whittling shop directly under the awning of my house. Unfortunately his hours happen to be exactly whenever I am working/writing/sleeping.

Since then I've decided that there is very much a small bird living inside some little space in the roof of my house. Which frankly, I've come to think, is pretty damn nifty. I like to consider him my little pet. He sits up high and watches me write and throws out little chirps of encouragement. Or so I like to believe. I think he's probably yellow and wears a red and white polka dot hat. My little yellow canary bird in a hat. (Apparently I've graduated from having imaginary friends but not pets. Nice.)

This little bird has also become somewhat of a metaphor for the way I've been thinking about my life lately. He has it all figured out. He probably has a mostly stress-free life. The area I live in is pretty wildlife friendly (the house cats tend to be rather tame and most dogs are kept indoors) so I doubt my little bird is having any Jason Bourne like chase scenes in his day-to-day existence. He has a constant food source. I know this for a fact because every time it rains the entire worm population in the tri-state area congregates on my front sidewalk and sings Christmas carols regardless of the season. Rain today? Yea well: BOOM. WORM SONGTIME.

Plus this bird also has an endless amount of entertainment. He can watch Sammy (the puppy) get chased by Little Brother, Little Sister, and Zoey - the evil dog. He can watch my mom have fits when she can't figure out something that's written in her textbook. And he can also while away his hours watching me at various times curse, hug, pet, and stare dreamily at my laptop (the last one is only when there's a picture of John Krasinski on it. Or something shiny. Or a Kindle.)

And all of this got me to thinking. I want a stress free life. My dentist says that I grind my teeth while I sleep - something to do with stress/how I lay when I sleep/my diet/exercise/the air/allergies and basically anything even remotely medical-ly sounding. However apparently if I was less stressed I would have fewer headaches and pointier teeth so that has become my new goal of late. Less Stress = Utopia Based Lifestyle. Or something like that.

Except that lovely God-like command isn't as easy as it sounds. You know just because the booming voice spouts off one day with "BE LESS STRESSED OR I WILL SMITE YOU IN SUCH A WAY THAT YOU WILL BE EVEN MORE STRESSED MWAHAHAHA" doesn't mean I can just magically poof and be all happy go lucky. Because, frankly, my life is a bit stressful.

Not that I'm not completely blessed. Because I am. I'm young, I have pretty great health, I have a family and friends that adore me, and I'm lucky enough to have found an amazing man who cares about me as much as I care about him. So overall I try really hard not to complain. But when it comes to matters like the economy, figuring out how to pay for college, trying to write my book, and ultimately finding some way to move back down to Salt Lake to be closer to the fiance things tend to get a bit overwhelming - and as a result - stressful.

So what I would really like is to be like my little bird that sits up in the ceiling watching things with a detached perspective. It doesn't bother him if maybe my website isn't working one day or if I didn't manage to get up as many posts as I would have liked one week. He's just happy to be safe and warm and able to chirp without anyone getting after him (which I've warned my family away from by threat of using the blender at 6 am on a regular basis - you want sleep? the bird stays).

I think the most important thing to remember is that my little bird also doesn't get stressed about being stressed which, remarkably enough, is something I've been known to do. Because when it really comes down to it I'll figure out how to pay for college. I'll get my website up and running soon enough. I'll find a job and an apartment down in Salt Lake in good time. Maybe it wont work out according to my timeline or the way I planned but it will all eventually work out. And that's what really matters.

I think my little yellow canary in the hat is a pretty good example for how I should try to live my life.

Me Vs. The Weather

For some reason all the really chaotic things that happen in my life tend to revolve around water. I've been attacked by sprinklers and the car wash, I'm a terrible swimmer and I really don't appreciate it when my hair gets all rained on and turns icky. Whenever there is any form of precipitation whatsoever I always seem to end up mumbling curses at the weather under my breath while trying to soak up the 4 pints of water that have taken hold in my ponytail. Not really my idea of a fun afternoon. So today when it started raining and I knew I'd have to take the puppy out and that it would be a while (for some reason it seems to take EIGHT HOURS for him to go to the bathroom) I decided to get all smart about it. I donned a bright pink raincoat and gloves and was determined not to get wet. The Weather did not appreciate this and thus began plotting to ruin my day.

Here's where the The Weather first decided to get crafty. Two doors up from my house there is a family that also owns a Shih Tzu (my puppy, Sammy, is far cuter though - just for the record). This little dog is named Zoey. He is possibly the meanest dog in the world. I swear when that dog looks at me I can just hear it making all kinds of condescending remarks about how one shouldn't go hunting for the paper in the morning with hair that looks like she just spent four hours bouncing around in an inflatable castle while rubbing a balloon on her head. To which my response is "Well you have GREEN ribbons in your hair. And I'm pretty sure you're a boy! And green is sooooooo a girl color now." followed by me sticking my tongue out at Zoey who just laughs because he knows I'm scaring all the morning joggers.

The Weather - being as smart as it is - also knows that Sammy is absolutely terrified of Zoey. Sammy is still a fairly small puppy and he gets nervous around any type of animal that isn't either a fish or an earthworm as he thinks the former is entertainment and the latter is lunch. I also may or may not have had to throw a rock at the neighbors' cat because it was chasing him. So of course right when Sammy and I head out the door for our Morning Walk/I Think I'll Run Circles Around Every Tree I Can Find While I Try And Pee On Them At The Same Time gig - here comes Zoey, shooting out if his house like a cannon and booking it straight towards Sammy and I. This is probably the only time where my dog and I have had the exact same thought at the same moment because I swear the second we saw that little black and white hairball running at us we both looked at each other with an "Oh shit." sort of face and started running towards the picnic table that across the street from the house.

In retrospect it would have been far more intelligent to just go back inside the house. But nooo. I didn't get the "Think On Your Feet" gene. Thank you mom - for keeping that and the ability to use electrical appliances without setting off the fire alarm ALL TO YOURSELF. So instead of boarding ourselves up inside my house, Sammy and I are now perched up on top of a wet picnic table trying to stay somewhat dry, while Zoey barks madly from the ground below us. What a lovely position to be in. I'm sure I look real attractive trying to hold on to a puppy that's acting like he just took a bottle of Ritalin while also avoiding getting bit by what seems to be some demon-possessed dog with pogo stick superpowers. The dog is literally trying to jump up onto the picnic table. So of course I'm freaking out - trying out all my grown-up dog commands. "Sit!" "Stay!" "GET AWAY FROM ME YOU EVIL THING!" None of which are helping - when, out of nowhere, I see a shining ray of hope. Zoey's owner has come outside for some reason or another and is now standing in his driveway up the street watching this little nightmare unfold. I start doing this frantic arm waving thing while pointing towards Zoey and yelling "Your dog is trying to EAT my dog!" And just when I think I'm home free this is what happens: Zoey's owner looks at me and - I kid you not - shrugs. And then proceeds to walk back into his house.

What. The. Hell. What kind of owner lets his dog not only run wild but chase other dogs (and the owners of said dogs)? Come on - seriously. How hard is it to call your dog's name and get it to leave me alone? By this time Sammy is looking at my with these huge eyes as if he thinks we're never going to escape and will have to live on the picnic table for the next day and a half until my mom gets home and can chase Zoey away for us. This is about the point where The Weather (who has been laughing maniacally this whole time) decides to have some real fun with me. Remember how I don't like being wet? Well I didn't know it at the time but I was about to have a whole new understanding of the term.

I decide that Sammy and I are getting back into the house THIS VERY MINUTE. I remember that I have Sammy's treats in my raincoat and begin to formulate what I thought was The Most Brilliant Idea Ever in my head. Clearly - it was not. With a dozen puppy treats in one hand and Sammy gathered up in the other arm I throw the little bone shaped cookies as far as I can, wait a split second until Zoey runs after them, hauling ass like it's the Olympics, and then in a huge leap - jump off the picnic table and start running for the door. Well right then The Weather decides how things are going to go down and starts pelting what had to have been golf ball sized drops of liquid at me, soaking my front lawn, and seem to have also managed to alert Zoey that his captives are escaping because instantly the awful creature whips around and starts to chase down Sammy and I.

The problem with this scenario is that my lawn is shaped strangely. It has weird divots and odd random sprinklers that haven't worked since the early nineties. None of this was on my mind as I was running. However, it did cross my mind when my pant leg caught on one of these useless sprinklers and threw both Sammy and I into the small pond that had been forming in the little valley of grass in my front yard as it rained. Great. I'm drenched. Sammy is drenched. Zoey is heading toward us at the speed of light. And The Weather is laughing until his sides hurt. Luckily I was able to slip and slosh my way out of the little pond, and managed to make it to the front door and slam it before Zoey could terrorize us any further. The only good thing about the whole day was the loud thud I heard only moments after closing the door. I hope Zoey has a huge headache for the rest of the day.

*No dogs were harmed in the making of this post. Just my pride.*

Sammy Joe

Everyone: Meet Sammy Joe. Sammy: Meet everyone. I assure you that even though he can't read he checks the blog updates just as avidly as I do. Sammy is a Shih Tzu (try to hold back the "shit" jokes please people - i know its tempting, albeit, unoriginal), a lover of the rain and fleece blankets (pictured here). He's eight months old, prefers his hair up in a little palm-tree-like ponytail on his head (also pictured here) and is already a great dancer. Welcome to the blog world Sammy.

P.S. Sammy also enjoys poetry, jazz music, and long walks on the beach. ;-)