Charlie; adorable beast and best mistake I ever made.

My dog was the best mistake I ever made. I'm only a little ashamed to say I love him like a child. The story of Charlie, the 35 pound 90 pound 105 pound dog goes a little something like this:

I had this roommate. Roommate wanted a dog. I was like; "Okay."

We went to the shelter. Roommate petted about 3085286518201.37 dogs. I walked to the end of the kennel and saw this little guy:

All cute and tiny and irresistible.

He looked so pathetic, sitting there in the kennel at the pound. He was the only dog that wasn’t barking or howling its head off at us. It was instant love.

^ Instant love. ^

The guy at the pound told us that he was going to be about 35 pounds fully grown. I was like, “35 pounds? Sure. Sounds good.”

That lying bastard. The dog is now 90 pounds. He enjoys sitting on my lap (read: crushing me to death), barking at things and being obnoxiously adorable.

He likes to try to run away a lot and if I open the door he tries to escape. I'm not sure why a spoiled dog is so intent on running away. I feed him tons of expensive kibble, pet him every day and baby talk him more than I would an actual baby. But for some reason, he runs and runs and evades capture. He will not come back for a treat, a toy or even a damn steak. And I end up just following him on foot, screaming curses at him and blocking traffic.

Ahh, good times.

Turns out, he really only wants to track down other dogs for the purpose of smelling and tail wagging. Once he realizes that running away to do it was probably a bad choice, he comes back. The whole process will send me to an early grave, I'm pretty sure.

UPDATE: I have discovered that he will come back if you throw open a car door and shriek "CAR RIDE".

Sickly death feeling

Today, I am experiencing a sickly death feeling that I highly disapprove of. I am also heavily medicated through no fault of my own.

(Dear DayQuil; make the damn dosage instructions bigger. If I need to take it, chances are I can't see it through the squinty haze of illness. Help me out here.)

Let me explain:

I took DayQuil and Sudafed.

So basically a Molotov cocktail of health.

I feel like I must be tripping on acid.

Imagine that, if you will.

I'm never doing that again.

It's mutual, Biting Cat.

I will begin by saying that the cat and I were never friends. (Not that I dislike cats or anything, I'm a veritable animal lover. It's just this one cat.)

This is Boyfriend's cat. This statement tells you two things;

1. I had nothing to do with the selection or upbringing of this horrible beast.
2. I can't get rid of her, not by accident nor by design.

The cat likes biting me, glaring at me from a variety of perches throughout the house, eating shoelaces with no remorse and hacking up hairballs on my once clean floors. According to my sister, she's not all bad. The cat really likes purring and cuddling with everyone who is not me, all while glaring at me from afar.

The cat and I are at opposite ends of the couch, glaring at each other due, in large part, to Boyfriend's Mom. Boyfriend left the cat with his parents while he was away at school a few years ago and over the summer Boyfriend's Mom  returned the cat to him. (Probably because of the biting.) Anyway. Boyfriend is still in school out of state and his insane landlady doesn't take kindly to non-human, non-rent-paying individuals.

And so somehow, I was tricked into unwilling cat ownership. Here's how it went:


Boyfriend's Mom places the cat in the back of her large SUV.

 Boyfriend's parents drive eight hours with the cat to bestow the cat upon their son.

 Boyfriend enjoys a nice summer of ignoring me and baby talking his insolent beast.

At the end of the summer, Boyfriend looked at me with his sad Boyfriend eyes.

Boyfriend somehow convinces me that the cat and I will get along splendidly.

Boyfriend returns to school at the end of the summer, leaving me with the petulant beast.

The cat begins glaring at me, stalking me and biting me at every possible opportunity.

 Yay.

Things not to bring to the museum

It has come to my attention over the past few years that people actually have poor enough judgment to bring all kinds of unnecessary or ridiculous crap to our outdoor, animal habitat museum. So here's to you, you crazies.

THINGS NOT TO BRING TO THE MUSEUM:

 1. Your small pets.

Apparently this is not obvious to many people.

 2.  High heeled shoes.

Yes. You will be walking around outside. There is limited pavement. Mostly gravel and dirt. And random holes in the ground that will make you fall and die.

3. Electrical equipment such as a crock pot, stereo or oscillating fan. (People do this. True story.)

I am actually a little disgusted that this has been an issue so many times. (Yes, I am wearing a green shirt and I have a walkie-talkie. No, I cannot magically provide power for your appliances.)

Seriously. Come on now.

Sleep: why I didn't get any

Today I am feeling pretty damn cranky.

Here is why:

Oh roomates. Thursday is still a weeknight. And 3:30am is not a good time for a party.

I hate driving

This morning while driving to work, I saw a drug bust in action. I hate driving, especially in the morning and especially when I'm headed to work. I hate road-raging jerkfaces who cut me off - I am chronically nervous about destroying my car because then I would have to ask my mom for rides and then I would have to move home and then I would be alone and have a hundred cats and never leave the house and become a hoarder like the people you see on TV...

So anyway, the drug bust; it was pretty anti-climactic to be honest. Just a couple of police officers walking their dogs and knocking on doors. And handcuffing. Whatevs.

I wish I could teleport to work and never have to drive. Unless teleportation hurts or something, in which case, I'd probably still try it at least once.

Food projects are the best kind of projects.

My sister had to do some art thing for school a while back and it was awesome beyond reason. I helped. We made a delicious bust of Aristotle. This is how it went:

We made his tasty little shoulders out of rice krispies. We had to start over because we ate the first shoulders - these are the second shoulders.

We formed a head-like structure. That thing sticking out of his head is actually a chopstick. Unfortunately, we didn't have a better plan to keep the head on. The chopstick remained where it was until Aristotle's 'demise'. (Sister took him to class where he was graded, admired and ultimately, eaten.)

Then we slathered him with delicious white frosting. That is my sister's hand.

We temporarily lost focus and did this.



We finally stopped eating the frosting directly from the container long enough to make this fondant! It is made of: marshmallows, powdered sugar and love. :)

Then we covered his cute little krispy head with fondant and began sculpting with whatever we weren't eating.

Smoothed out the lines and added facial features. I like to think that he's a carefree, jolly type of guy.

This is the final product. And my finger lovingly picking his cute little fondant covered krispy nose.

 Needless to say, we are culinary geniuses. Obviously.