Having Goals . . . maybe

So, my whole Katie the Dog fiasco is turning a bit hopeful. I took the monster home last weekend to my hometown vet and we decided to give her a month to heal by herself. The Vet doesn't believe it's as serious as the ER vet did. So we've got her on some anti-inflammatory and stuck in her cage for about 22 hours a day. I feel terrible, but a little discomfort for a month is totally worth it if she doesn't have to have invasive surgery.

Dog drama down to a minimum *thumbs up*

I also got my hair cut this weekend - that's one goal for 2010 down. LMAO

I'm still working on the travel thing. Since we aren't sure yet if Katie is going to need surgery in a month or not I'm in a holding pattern right now. If she needs the surgery I won't be going anywhere for a while, if not then I'll get to fulfill one of my goals for the year. I just have to get my ass in gear and get my friggin' passport. *goes to google search local locations*

In other news, I had a wonderful Valentines weekend, which included a nicely violent hockey game with box seats and a delicious Budweiser beer, and a taco bake casserole with cheapish pink champagne. I'm the fucking classiest broad EVAR. I also got my ass kicked by Current Guy at basically every Wii Sports game. Tragic.

Mad-Eye Moody Monday

Now for a teeny bit of whining. My poor dog has a torn muscle in her knee and has to go in for surgery to get it repaired! Poor Kate, I was a total wreck and cried at the vets office when he told me, not cool, not cool at all. So I've been busy spoiling her all weekend to make up for the fact that I'm a terrible pet owner. She's going to be a holy terror by the time she's completely healed.

I'm taking her to my parents country vet for a second opinion (and hopefully a cheaper price on surgery, that makes me a terrible person doesn't it?) this coming weekend. So I'm going to be a nervous wreck until this whole thing is over. I've chewed off all my finger nails, started twisting my hair, and can't sit still, it's mostly stuff that people wouldn't notice right off so I'm getting through most everything without letting on how worried and upset I am.

After all, Katie is just a dog, she's young, strong, and incredibly active so things will be fine she'll heal up just great and things will be better than before. *turns off auto-play on voice recorder*

Knowing logically that things should be fine doesn't make things fine in my head. Surgery is scary, anesthesia is scary, and waiting patiently is fucking hard. I'm good at these kinds of things from the outside, mostly because I completely and totally hide my feelings when I want/need to.

Just give me a half hour to myself to ball my eyes out and you'd never know how upset I am afterward. Only the small things give away what a wreck I am and I don't know of anyone who knows me well enough to recognize them.

Anyway, it seems like I'm making an awfully big deal for a very small, relatively safe procedure. All they're doing is going in and repairing/replacing a muscle in Katie's left knee, easy peasy.

Just something weird about me, I guess. I don't handle the people (or animals) in my life in pain very well, especially when there's absolutely nothing I can to actively help them recover.

Puppy Pictures - As Requested

Here's Coleman:








He's cute and everything, but Katie is much cuter:



Okay, so it's Kate as a baby, she's still super cute even as an adult dog and I can't be arsed to search around my computer files to find a grown up version.

♥

The Dog

I had to leave my dog (Katie) at the farm last weekend because I'm going to be so busy over the next few weeks. I did, however, take another dog back home with me. His name is Coleman and he's a terrier mix. He's a truly adorable dog, very friendly and sweet.

He's driving me bat-shit insane. He cannot be alone, ever, I mean EVER. If I leave the room he barks, when I put him outside he barks, if I crate him he barks, if no one is paying attention to him he barks. The only time I get any peace at all is when he's running around my house like a loon and jumping on my furniture or sniffing my cats.

I'm at my wits end here. I don't deal well with barky dogs, and by that I mean I don't deal at all. There is nothing in this world that grates on my nerves more than barking. In comparison, nails on a chalkboard are a welcome relief.

Now, my Katie is no angel, she does bark and she's excessively hyper, but she listen's to me and knows when she needs to be quiet and when it's acceptable to get a little rowdy. I've raised her and she knows her limits. Okay, so maybe she doesn't always know her limits and my sisters basically hate her and curse at me every time I bring her to the farm.

But she's mine and I love her. She doesn't listen to anyone except me and she gets so excited when someone new comes around that you think she might rip your face right off from the excitement of it all. I swear she's a good dog though (okay I admit that I'm biased, but she's better than Coleman!!).

Coleman has no limits and it's such a small, yappy little thing. I'm not a small, yappy type dog girl. I never have been. Katie the beagle mix is as small a dog as I'll ever get.

Coleman is a terrier, the worst kind of yappy dog (in my opinion).

I suppose I should get to the actual story behind him. My mother and sisters "found" Coleman while they were camping. Someone dumped him and drove off. They don't understand how someone could do that with an obviously well-cared for pet (after living alone with Coleman for 3 days not only do I understand, I empathize).

Someone that I work with is interested in adopting him. I'm meeting up with her tonight and she'll take him for the weekend to see if he gets along with her current dog.

So even if you aren't religious I'm begging you to pray with me. Please let this woman fall head over heals for this small, yappy, irritating as hell dog. Because if I have to take him back on Sunday I'm pretty sure I'll commit puppy-murder by Monday night.

I was trying to do a good deed, getting this dog off the farm for my parents and finding him a good home, instead I'm just punishing myself.

Ouch *%$#$@* ! *&$%@#$!%(*

I'm accident prone. I fall ALL the time, seriously, at least once a week. I'll slip on the bathroom or kitchen floor, trip over the dog, cat, coffee table, rogue shoe, wear slick soled shoes in my garage, the parking deck, walking the dog. Sometimes I don't even have an excuse, I just collapse in a heap.

I also bruise easily and consistently, I currently have 13 bruises. I only know where about 6 of them came from.

I get scratched a lot too. Between the cats, random nails in my wall, paper cuts, and knife wounds its a wonder I haven't bled to death.

My favorite curse during 95.5% of these injuries: mothertrucker. I usually string as many curse words together as my brain can think of and come up with some very surprising and innovative word choices. I then try to use them in day to day life.

Look at me, taking lemons and turning them into f#$%ing lemonade!

Physically and Mentally Well?

So my iPhone seems to have come through it's traumatic toilet experience with only slight damage. Everything is working perfectly once I unlock the phone. However, when the phone is locked sometimes the screen lights up for no reason and I get a notice about an attachment not meant for the iPhone being plugged in. If those are the only issues I can totally live with that. I'm super grateful because the more I thought about spending $200 on a replacement the more I decided that I couldn't do it. I would have just stopped in at my nearest US Cellular and gone back to life pre-iPhone. It wouldn't have been a fabulous life, but it would have been an adequate one.

I spent my Saturday at a HUGE NHRA (I think those are the initials) Drag Race in Joliet, IL. I got up at 4:00 am, I don't get up at 4:00 am for Christmas so my getting up to go see some cars go fast proves how very in love I am with CG. I wasn't even very grumpy, which I'm pretty sure was a mind over matter thing in that I really don't want anyone to see the real morning "me" until I've got them in a place where they cannot leave me (related by blood or marriage) once they witness the dragon-lady that is me when I don't get my full 8 hours on a normal sleep schedule.

When I got home late that night I was expecting a big Katie (my beagle mix) mess. I was pleasantly surprised. Not only had she refrained from tearing my bathroom to shreds she hadn't had an accident or anything. Wonders never cease.

My Sunday involved my half-assed attempt at cleaning while my mind was screaming "just lay down for a little bit, you deserve a lazy day," sadly by about 4 pm that little voice won out and I spent the rest of the evening watching Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth *insert naughty comment here*. Mr. Darcy is my hero, I would totally smex him up right, but only after I sexored Edmund from Mansfield Park as played by Johnny Lee Miller. *sigh*