The Diary of Lola Bear: Snow Day

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Doodle’s Log: March 5, 2015.

It snowed last night. I can’t be sure how much, as I lack the thumbs required to utilize a ruler effectively, but the drifts come up to the beagle’s chin. I think the humans asked for it to punish me for bleeding all over their carpet the other night.

I have tried to explain to the beagle that snow is a terrible condition but she’ll have none of it. This morning when we went out for our morning constitutional, she made a mockery of herself by diving headfirst into the deepest snow. I tried to call her back to Mom and my side, but she pretended not to hear. Instead, she began blazing trails through the snow, though it is up to her chin and very cold, smiling like an idiot all the while. Mom laughed, which baffled me. I stood beside her, stoic, waiting for the charade to end so that we could return inside. She kept chanting at me to “be a good girl” and “go potty” even though we both know that it is madness to try to evacuate my bladder in snow that deep. I would surely die. Evidently the beagle has gone mad. I will not be so easily taken. I will wait until Mom or Dad shovels an area of the yard. They will have to do this eventually. I fear I may not be able to last until then, however, and that I may be forced to evacuate my bowels in Mom’s closet. Oh, how far I’ve fallen.

I heard Mom tell Dad that my webbed feet are defective, a fact which I know to be false. My webbed toes make me an excellent swimmer, or they would if I were ever desperate enough to need to swim. According to her, however, the webs are also supposed to keep the snow from collecting between my toes, which must be a lie. That is one of the snow’s evil tricks — getting frozen to your paw hair in between your toes and giving you frostbite. To “help me,” she says, Mom purchased paw covers, which only I am forced to wear. The paw covers are most humiliating. They have taken countless videos of my attempts to walk in them. They laugh. What sort of hell have I come to?

In addition, the humans will not leave. Normally, they all evacuate the house in the morning and return later in the day. This gives me time to tend to my affairs. I have business to take care of, namely spying on the cat and ascertaining how far progressed are her plans for total household domination. I fear she is close. In addition, I must frighten the birds who grow bolder every day and lay down a fine layer of my hair on all of the furniture to help keep the humans warmer. They are basically naked but cover themselves with blanket-like things that make them look ridiculous. Eventually, I hope they will appreciate my sacrifices.

I am liking the ear rubs and extra treats I have been given this morning, but I also caution myself to look out for the attached strings to such benevolence. It’s only a matter of time before I am forced outside again. I fear I may go mad.

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Best in Show

Credit: Andrew Burton/Getty Images [source]

Last night at the Westminster Kennel Club’s Best in Show competition, a beagle named Miss P took home the gold.

Is that right?

Miss P took home the ribbon-y thing that they give to dogs with “wonderful type” and “wonderful head[s].”

I am the proud human of a beagle named Miss P, by extension. She’s a Rigby, but we call her Miss Piggy. I’ve had a devil of a time telling her today that while a noble member of her breed is the champion, she is still ever the farty, nervous old thing she’s always been. But you’re the champion of my heart, Rigby, which may mean a lot or a little, depending on whether I’m holding treats or not.

Does anyone else have a hard time not thinking of Christopher Guest’s movie, Best in Show, when discussing the Westminster Kennel Club show?

We’re effectively snowed in. I have a sinus and ear infection. Rigby has a Napoleonic complex. Among everything else. I see this movie in my future this evening.

How is everyone? Snowed in? 65 and sunny?

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Checking in. Are we still there? Is everyone ok?

I almost forgot what this place looked like, friends. Truly. Remember that post when I said I wanted to post more because it made me happy? And then I didn’t post for a reeeeeeally long time? Yea. Me too.

I dreamt that I had this whole new post planned out in my head that was going to be hilarious. Then I woke up and realized that it was just me replacing song lyrics with my dogs’ names. You’re welcome for not posting that. Although, full disclosure, we are on our second singing of “Doodles are Better than People” this morning, sung to the tune of Frozen’s “Reindeer are Better than People.” Lola loves it so don’t you dare judge me.

(Start a blog, they said. You’re super funny, they said. It’ll make you seem aloof and cool, they said.)

This is the place where I’m supposed to share my musings and opinions with the world at large, which seems ever more ridiculous. In fulfillment of that contract, I’m sending this out into the now empty room that once held at least 12 people who read this blog. Here’s the update on my life using a series of Liz Lemon gifs and memes. Buckle up.

1. School has been insane.

2. Work is work.

3. Freelance “art-ing” and writing is oddly stressful.

4. I work with the general public and study the general public and, therefore, want little to nothing to do with the general public. Kidding. …Mostly.

5. I had some fitness-related realizations and, subsequently, made some fitness- related goals.

6. Apparently there’s this thing where, when you reach your late twenties and haven’t yet procreated, your body goes all, “Get it together, jerkwad!” and goes into a kind of latent, second puberty. When I heard that, I could literally feel my heart trying to claw its way out of my mouth. It’s definitely a thing, though, because my late twenties and early teens have not looked all that different, only instead of collecting Backstreet Boys posters I make my husband look up cute pictures of baby animals on Reddit. Sometimes that backfires because he’ll show me a picture of a newborn pygmy hippo and I’ll start crying because, and I quote, “it’s little ears are too cute to be real.” It’s a cruel joke, really.

It’s like society praised me for my responsible life choices – “You went to college, lady! And grad school! And waited to have children until you felt that you could provide them with a financially stable home and that you, yourself, were emotionally, mentally, and spiritually mature enough to handle the daunting task of raising a human being successfully! Well done, lady!”

Meanwhile, the ol’ lady business is plotting my demise one peanut butter cup at a time.

7. In response to #6, I have cut down exposure to the things that make me weepy which means that I only watch that one video – the one with the kid who has a genetic condition that has rendered him nearly unable to walk or physically develop fully but who adopts a three legged dog and they both find comfort, purpose, and happiness in each other – once a week. Progress.

(Seriously though, if you haven’t watched that video, do it. The first time I viewed it, Carter found me clutching the Labradoodle sobbing that it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Truly. And not in a pygmy hippo way.)

8. I’m studying social work, which is to say I’m studying society, which is to say that my eyes are open to just how crappy humans can and have been throughout history. The entire social work degree, as I have experienced it, can be boiled down to one primary concept: Human beings, like the internet, are at once the most amazing and most terrible things ever. Get it together, human race.

9. This spring, I start training to become a yoga teacher. I am, at once, excited and completely terrified.

10. I’ve been spending a lot of time with my pets. It is both a good thing and a terrible thing.

11. I’m going through that late-twenties phase where I’m pretty much a fully-formed person with a fully-formed personality, for better or worse, but also harbor some of the deep, latent self-loathing of my teens and early twenties that tells me that the fully-formed personality I have is really, really dumb and pretty kind of okay at the same time.

It’s a journey though, right? Isn’t that the premise of 9 of the 254 Chicken Soup for the Soul books? Calling it.

How have you been, awesome nerds? I’m gonna be here more often. And this time, I mean it.

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Walking my girl

 Lola 1

My girl.

She’s been going through it lately. Well, for a dog, anyway. She had a brush with an ear infection, found out that she has a tilted vulva (don’t ask), got a haircut, and, to add insult to injury, it’s been raining for several days now.

I wouldn’t call her miserable. After all, I don’t think any creature who lives as well as she does could ever be capable of true misery, but she’s been down in the dumps. Mopey. Clingy. And, oh, the sighs that come from this dog.

Meanwhile, I’ve been chugging along, cheerfully assuring her that everything’s great — on the way to the vet [ears and vulva], on the way to the pet wash [haircut], when we’re standing out in the rain to potty [her, not me].

But yesterday, I started my new part-time job. My manager, as managers are wont to do, asked me to tell him about myself.

MANAGER: So you’re in school?

ME: Yes. Studying social work. I’m going to be a licensed clinical social worker and, hopefully, do therapy and counseling with combat veterans.

MANAGER: That’s really cool. So, when you’re not in school, what do you do for fun?

ME: Well, I’m ignoring the fact that I should be finishing my novel. And I have an Etsy store. And I substitute teach.

MANAGER: Oh, that’s really awesome! …But what do you do for fun?

Kittens, I didn’t have an answer. I certainly didn’t want to say “Watch tv,” though, recently, my recreation can be boiled down to watching Miranda on Hulu in bed while stress-drinking an absurd amount of tea.

I wouldn’t call me miserable. After all, I don’t think any creature as blessed as I am could ever be capable of true misery, but I’ve been down in the dumps. Mopey. Clingy. And, oh, the sighs that have come from me.

That question, “What do you do for fun?” has been plaguing me.

I was walking Lola this morning. It’s raining. The grass is wet. And, as we’ve covered before, I don’t think I loathe anything in this world as much as Lola loathes wet grass. Or even damp grass, really. So here we are, mincing our way down the driveway – she, trying to find the least wet patch of grass in the yard while I, on tiptoe, try to avoid stepping on any of the approximately 7 million earthworms littering the pavement. Because they gross me out. I’m frustrated at her for being so picky while she, undoubtedly, is frustrated for my refusal to understand her “issue.” (pronounced in the fancy way – “iss-you”)

Eventually, we both gave up. Lola heaved a giant sigh and waded into the wet grass and I’m pretty sure that I stepped on a worm. Or nine.

I think we both need a little shake-up in our lives, Miss Lolabear and me. She needs the hair trimmed from between her toes and, I’ll admit, a bit of an attitude adjustment. (It is not your bed, Lola. It is our bed and we let you sleep in it.)

I, on the other hand, need to chill the f*ck out.

And yet, it’s hard to tell myself to do that. The world seems to have gone mad. Really and truly mad. Dear friends of mine are hurting. It seems that everyone is hurting.

The papers will get written. The work will get done. The bills, somehow, will get paid. Everything will work out. What’s that quote? “Everything will be okay in the end and, if it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.”

I guess I need an attitude adjustment of my own. I’ve missed this blog. I’ve missed attempting to make you laugh. That used to make me really, really happy. That used to be a lot of fun. And, in this time of great struggle for our world, I think we need more laughter and fun. After all, when the laughter stops, things get very scary very quickly.

Sending you all so much love. We’ll get through this. It has to stop raining eventually. But in the meantime, I leave you with something that’s been making me laugh quite a bit the last two days. Thanks, Barry. You’re tops.

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How to Tell You’re Ovulating: A Medical Reference

1. You watch this video….

And, after bawling for a full five minutes following, decide to watch it again. Your husband may or may not give you a concerned look when  you whisper through your snot bubble, “Go, monkey. Be free!”

2. You squeal for a solid 2 minutes after finding this handsome gentleman on Pinterest:

3. Speaking of Pinterest, your feed looks like this:

Screen Shot 2014-11-08 at 8.20.16 PM

 

 

In other news, the Polar Vortex is back. We’re supposed to see a 40-degree temperature drop next week.

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