I came across this home today and while I love a lot of it (hello, ridiculously stylish kitchen), I have a serious thing for the whole “office in a closet” look. I don’t care if my next house literally comes with a library (see: very unlikely), I’m going to create a home office in my closet. Like one of these:
Tomorrow morning I’m headed over to my local hospital, a place I’ve become all too familiar with, for a few tests. I’ve been feeling better, but not the best, and my doctor wants to “rule out” some things. While I really like my doctor, he’s quite skilled at terrifying me.
He’s like one of those flight attendants who over shares: “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience while waiting for this plane to depart. We had some severe engine trouble and they are working on repairing the left wing and then we’ll be taking off soon.” Seriously. There should be some class just for flight attendants and doctors in which they are taught how to lie better.
Anyway, chances are, I’m fine. My gut tells me I’m fine (not literally. literally my gut tells me it wants to be somewhere far, far away from the rest of my body). But here’s the thing: A few days ago I told a friend about something really cool that had happened to me and she said “Well, I’m glad that happened. Goodness knows you deserved it after everything you’ve been through.” But I really, really don’t see it that way. These last few months have had more lows than I’m used to, but that’s just because I’m used to some pretty awesome stuff.
So, I’ll share some fun hospital stories tomorrow. Most likely tomorrow’s story will be titled “Survival and Triumph: The Story of When a Doctor Made Me Go for 12 Hours With No Food and I Still Lived.” Hopefully.
When I say I love food, I mean so much. Over the last few days I’ve eaten some of my favorite DC dishes so far. I’ve put my top three below. If you live in DC, you should eat these now. If not, you should probably come visit DC and eat these. Also, take me with you when you come because I want to eat them again.
Last night Sara Bareilles performed for the opening ceremony for the Cherry Blossom Festival. I didn’t even know I was a Sara Bareilles fan until I realized I knew every song she played. Except this one. I’d never heard this one. Now I’ve played it 674395 times. I may go a little overboard when I like something.
Other than the snippets I’ve perused over shoulders in the metro, I haven’t read Twilight or Hunger Games (gasp!). But because I occasionally venture on to this thing called the Internet, I’ve got a pretty good feeling for the stories in both. And I love this Post writer’s analysis of the heroines.
This morning, I woke up slowly, letting the haze of Nyquil wear off and hitting snooze a few more times than usual. When I finally hauled myself out of bed, I could immediately tell my head still felt fuzzy and that today was going to be a groggy one. I shuffled into the bathroom of the small…
Just in case anyone was wondering what the first four minutes of my day looked like.
For Christmas, my brother gave me a DNA test for Pawley. Last week, I finally sent off the test. Also, last week, my family began a serious bet over Pawley’s origins.
Once the gambling ensued, it was established that each contestant was allowed to choose four breeds from which Pawley possibly descended. There’s was discord regarding the prize for the winner. I suggested that person won Pawley—the ultimate prize. Which was when my dad declared his guess to be pure bred shitzu.
My brother’s initial guess was full blooded chupacabre. My dad consequently did some research on the chupacabre and determined the following: “From my internet readings and thus the truth, the chupcabra was captured last year in Texas. One could argue that there is more than one chupacabra in the US, but the liklihood is infinitesimally small, and certainly, it would not have migrated to NC. The chupacabra cannot swim and so it would have never made it across the Mississippi River.”
My brother responded with the following: “Of course it was killed in Texas. Likely, Bush put it in the electric chair for killing somebody’s goat. If Chui is out, then I’m either going with the direct offspring of the Montauk Monster, or an abbagoochie that escaped from the West Virginia hills, or even more unlikely a simple cross breed between a doberman and a boxer, but I am confident the doberman was on top.”
I don’t know how he knows that about the doberman.
I do know that soon two very important questions will be answered: “Is Pawley actually all canine?” and “Who in my family has more talent in the extremely prestigious realm of differentiating between dog breeds?”
I can’t decide if The Huffington Post's description of my hometown is amusing or insulting. But I guess when you've been chosen as the setting for the poorest district in a post-apocalyptic world, you can't be too insulted by a few NASCAR generalizations.
On my third day in my new home in DC I was in the backyard with the dogs when one of my new neighbors walked past and introduced herself. Approximately 14 seconds into the conversation she gestured to my next door neighbor’s house, “You’re going to have trouble with that one, you know?”
Every other home on my block are beautiful, well-kept homes. Except the one right next door to me. I’d noticed it when I’d rented the house, but had been undeterred. After all, I’ve lived next door to Cowboy. Once you’ve lived next to a perpetually shirtless man who does things like stab his dogs in front of you, everything else seems like no big deal.
But she went on, “He’s mentally ill. And he’ll collect trash and put it in his backyard. You just have to tell him not to do that.”
I thanked her for the information and quickly filed it away as something in my mind to mention to my roommate when we weren’t in full on crisis mode of dogs attacking each other and me spending more time in the ER than my own home.
But then, last week I was in the yard early one evening when I noticed something through the fence into his yard. I peeked through. And saw a giant rat. Obviously I thought I should take a photo of this so I hurriedly pulled out my phone to snap the rat’s photo, which is when I saw another rat. And then another one. And then another one. And another one. And another one.
I watched six rats the size of bricks all scurrying around in the one small section of his yard that I can see. It was no dog stabbing, but it was definitely a low in my level of comfort with our new neighbor.
So, I called my landlord who called a city inspector who came and set up some regulations and future appointments with the neighbor and his brother who co-owns the home—all with the intent of ridding it of the rats.
The yard was quickly cleaned up and things seemed to be improving. Then, on Sunday, I noticed our neighbor through the fence bent over and messing with the ground. I thought perhaps he was picking up the old corn cobs I noticed in the yard and I forgot about it. Until last night.
Last night something colorful caught my eye through the fence. It was a pink cupcake. A half eaten cupcake. I looked closer. The cupcake was one of many, set up in a very weird circular symbol. And scattered around the cupcakes is popcorn. It looks like Stonehenge but with half-eaten cupcakes.
What I’m trying to say here is that I judged Cowboy too quickly. Sure, he’s a crazy redneck with a drinking problem who has no business owning dogs or RVs. But, at no point did Cowboy build a cupcake rat alter in his backyard. And so suddenly, I kind of miss him.
Ask you anything? Why do you not blog anymore? I feel lost not knowing what Rosie and Pawley are doing in DC. Are they friends with Beau or Bo (First dog, yet?) Has Rosie lost weight? Are there good cheeses in DC? I need answers? Why aren't you blogging anymore? Give it up for lent?
This question is hilarious. And valid. Sorry for my serious lack of blogging of late. For about seven weeks my life was basically be sick, try to keep new job despite being sick, sleep, repeat. Blogging, like many things as it turns out, is less fun when you’re vomiting.
Anyway, as of this week I’m finally better but I’m playing some serious life catch up after the last month and a half. And while blogging is my first love, it doesn’t pay especially well at all. So, some other projects have had to take priority of late.
And now, the answers to your most important questions: Rosie and Pawley are doing quite well. At first Pawley thought that DC was a place where big dogs ate dachshunds, but that confusion seems to have been cleared up and they’re now back to being their usual mismatched pals. Rosie spends her days on the couch where she has a view of the Capitol dome and Pawley spends her days gnawing through all forms of matter in the backyard. They’re not friends with Bo yet. But it’s obviously only a matter of time.
Are there good cheeses in DC? Oh. My. Word. What a glorious place this is. There’s an actual Fromagerie only a few blocks from my house. I went to a dinner at this place where I ate one of the best cheese plates I’d ever had. Yesterday I ate the Spanish Grilled Cheese sandwich from this food cart and thought heaven had arrived in my mouth. I have a sottocenere addiction that I feed weekly from the nearby Whole Foods. Am I still talking about cheese? This is awkward…
And finally, Rosie, if you must know, is just as perfectly curvy as ever. In her new DC vet’s words, “Well, she doesn’t have much of a waist, but who does these days, really?”
So there you have it. I’ll be back to my daily over-sharing-with-the-internet blogging very soon. Promise.