Tag Archive: chief


Hello blogosphere!

Long time, no see!!

As you may have deduced, I have returned from my trip abroad and made it safely back to the lovely USA. My trip was awesome and amazing and every positive adjective you can imagine and I definitely did not want to come home, but now that I am home, I am definitely glad to be back.

The following things were what I was most excited about coming home to:

  1. Chiefy
  2. My Bed

Yeah, that’s it.

Besides being exhausted and wanting nothing to do with stairs or being awake, I have also been a complete basket case.  The reasons, however, I just don’t feel comfortable sharing with the entire world on the internet, so I apologize for that. I really didn’t need to share that part with you guys, but considering the mess I’ve been, I just haven’t been myself since I’ve been back.

I met some really great people and really, really loved every minute of the trip. It was amazing and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m beyond glad I had the chance to experience everything I did.

Now that I’m back, I have so much to do and getting back to reality kinda blows.

I have so much work still to do for class and it seems like I have a never-ending supply of laundry. I only packed 50 pounds worth of stuff, but I just am struggling to put everything away. I hope I remember how to be in the real world and execute the functions of my job. That will be an adventure tomorrow morning. As will waking up at a normal time in EST.  My body clock is all out of whack and I never have any idea what time it is.

I just wanted to quickly update that I made it back safely and that I hadn’t abandoned my blog for forever.  I’m back and am trying to get back into the swing of things.

🙂

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This weekend Chiefy learned how to swim.

Tam bought him a lifejacket (as evidenced below) on Saturday and he finally realized he can swim.

We were exuberant!  For as long as we have had Chiefy, he as only waded in the lake.  He has only gone as far in as he can comfortably and effectively stand, so taking liftoff in the water was a great success.

Since then, I have become disgustingly ill and now have a gnarly cold.

My neck still hurts, but only vaguely.

I almost tipped over in the kayak today. My butt was soaked and, just moments later, I got shit on by a bird flying overhead. Drew almost hit me with a rock he was throwing into the lake.

I basically slept all day long. That, or I’ve been watching Nurse Jackie with Drew.

My nose is raw and I’m a mouth breather.

I spilled ice cream on the dog and on the floor.

I think it’s time I go to bed and hope for a better tomorrow.

So, I had big plans for this week because I had, like, three consecutive days off from work.  I had biiiiig plans. I was gonna vacuum. And do all my laundry. And actually get ahead in all three of my classes this semester.  I was going to catch up on all of the TV shows I haven’t had time to watch (because I spend all my time either listening to Harry Potter or watching it on DVD (and blu-ray)). I was going to color-code my planner for the next month and really just bask in the glory of all of this Me-Time.

As I previously mentioned, I had some unexpected and extreme neck pain pop up and leave me completely useless.  I wish I could have snapped a pic of what a pathetic baby I looked like, all crooked and in pain.  I would have shared it with you so you could all laugh at me and feel sorry for me.  Because, dude, the pain was so bad. I mean, I wouldn’t liken it to childbirth or anything but it was far more than just a regular crick in the neck.  I mean, this is Day Three of this type of trauma to my body and I just… couldn’t stand it anymore.

After waking up nearly every hour (EVERY HOUR!!) last night because my neck wouldn’t stop hurting let alone allow me to find a comfortable way to sleep, and after finally popping 600mg more of Motrin at 4am, I resigned myself to the fact that I just was going to be tired for the rest of my life.  Finally, at about 7:15, I heard Chiefy Poo getting yelled at.  This was interesting because Mr. Poo Poo Face never gets yelled at.  He just doesn’t get in trouble.  He’s Mama’s little angel and Tam just fawns over him.  It’s almost ridiculous.  But sure enough, this morning, I heard Tam yelling at Poor Baby Chiefy.

“No! Chief! No! You come here! RIGHT NOW!”

I did some weird, highly attractive roll/flop out of my bed and made my way towards the stairs to head upstairs.  But then I turned around to put some pants on. And then I went upstairs to see what Chief had done.  I found him sitting by the front door with his perfect, sad puppy eyes looking up at me and his feet a curious shade of dark brown.  This is interesting because Chiefy is a lovely golden blonde color.

That was about the time Tam pointed to a hole in our yard that was not there yesterday.

I laughed and then grabbed my neck in pain and asked her if she had gotten the very important email I had sent her yesterday.

Lately, I have taken to sending emails to Tam at work with silly words in the subject line, such as “Urgent” or “Very Important” or even “Please Read Immediately!” and then there is a solitary picture of Chief doing something adorable.

For example:

Subject: Important Info.

Chiefy loves his toys!!

And that’s it. That’s all that I put in the emails. Bahahaha She never emails me back.

Yesterday, though, I sent an email where I displayed my true colors.

Subject: Urgent!!!! HIGH PRIORITY!!

Chiefy has been naughty.  He tried to dig up a plant outside my room!

She didn’t email me back.

Obviously, I’m a tattle tail.  But, like, Chief must view me as his equal, and therefore discredit my ability to scold him.  When I asked him just what the fuck he thought he was doing when I interrupted him digging on the dirt off to the side of my patio, he just kinda looked at me like excuse me, you’re interrupting my fun. I guess I’ll just go over here and bark at some geese and then run around the backyard like a maniac. 

So I just said, fine, but I’m telling Mom. And you’re gonna be in big trouble. Or, at the very least, going to miss out on a treat later.

Tam apparently saw the email but quickly forgot about it.  Because she baby’d him the normal amount she always does, so she clearly didn’t mind that the backyard is a mess because this dog likes to dig.

He’s so naughty.

But I love him anyway. In fact, I came up with a new nickname for him today: Chef Salad. I’ll see how it works.

Oh wait. Uhm….

My point was, originally, that I haven’t done all the shit I originally set out to do this week, but my original idea to post kind of got away from me because I got to talking about Chief.  The good news is that I finally went and saw a doctor this morning, so I’m on a strict regimen of Motrin and prednisone for my acute muscle spasm in my neck.  And the lady doctor told me that it’s likely that I carry my stress in my neck- something of which I was already aware.

We all know that I’m obsessed with my dog.

A few nights ago, Chiefy climbed up on my bed and we snuggled.

He’s not usually allowed on furniture and I don’t really like when he climbs on my bed because he gets his hair everywhere.  I don’t like that.

The thing is he’s just so damn cute that I can hardly resist.  And he’s a really good snuggler, so I have a hard time saying no.

Then this happened and I couldn’t even be mad that he was lying on my legs and I couldn’t move.

He was completely zonked out and it was seriously adorable.

I couldn’t bring myself to wake him so I did this instead:

Naturally, sniping a picture of his face was a better idea than waking the sleeping baby.

So, now, I’m gonna see if I can entice Chiefy into sleeping in my room tonight. He can even get his fur on my blankets. I’ll try not to hold it against him.

This weekend I realized, even more than ever, I am truly my mother’s daughter.

In fact, I came to the conclusion that she and I should probably hang out less.

Drew came home this weekend for the first time in about three months and he was appalled at my behavior.

We went out to dinner last night as a family. This restaurant is one of those restaurants that has hibachi style Japanese food (yum!) and it was really loud.  Drew sat between Mom and I and we were in a situation where neither of us could hear what the other was saying.

More than once, Drew stopped and looked at us, exasperated and incredulous.  He could not believe his eyes or his ears.  Not only did both Mom and I interrupt each other, but we were usually asking the same questions or making the same observations.  At the same time, or just seconds apart.

This is deeply upsetting because Drew and I make fun of Mom all the time.  She only tends to half-listen so she ends up saying “huh?!” and “what?!” a lot during conversations.  It also doesn’t help that Drew and I have our own special, weird sibling language. You know, the kind of language where you don’t speak in complete thoughts or even real words.  Really, we can have an entire conversation in movie lines and weird faces. That might sound a little shallow, but in actuality, our conversations aren’t always all surface-y, even though we are using other peoples’ words.

I love that about us.

Mom, however, does not love that.

She tends to get lost a lot.

But then she throws out gems like this:

What? Elvis is walking in a train station?

She said that in response to something I had said to her over the phone one time.

Or she just makes her own conversation and hopes it catches on. It usually only catches on because I think what she said is so ridiculous and random that I immediately latch on and tease her relentlessly.

For example, Drew shared this gem with me last night. She apparently said this:

His cart pulled up and I immediately turned to the kids and said, “Look at that giant wheel of butter!”

I’m fairly certain she said that to the woman she was talking to at our hibachi table (whom she had just met- and then proceeded to advise her 16 year old son about which engineering programs to pursue at various schools known for engineering.)

Oh, the other thing that’s hilarious about my mom? If she’s not talking about work, Drew, or me, she’s talking about Chief.  And with a face like this, why wouldn’t you?

he is SO presh!

My family is awesome.

I wrote a ten page paper today.

And by today I mean I did it all after 4pm.

I’m not even going to get into any discussion of daylight savings time because we all know I’ll only end up confused, upset and bewildered.

I only mention it now because it pertains to my day in the sense that when I woke up this morning, it was an hour later than it would have been had it been as things were just yesterday.  I hate that we lost an hour. It meant that when I awoke at 9:06 this morning, as my clock alerted me, it was 10:06 in actuality. It meant that I had wasted that hour without the perks of gaining an actual hour of sleep or spending that time on the couch watching two episodes of Say Yes to the Dress.

And let me tell you, I did spend time on the couch this morning watching Say Yes to the Dress! However, this was done as I sulked silently about “losing an hour.”

I spent the rest of my morning sitting in my own filth and baby-talking to the dog.  He eventually grew tired of this and decided to go sleep with his butt against the wall, as he usually does.

Evidenced here:

What's this about??

And here:

he's so weird

After I tired of watching Say Yes to the Dress, I decided I would finish season one of The Sopranos.

I feel so badass when I watch that show.  Mob life fascinates me. Actually, violence and crime in general tend to fascinate me. I live such a sheltered life that I pretty much just read about it on Wikipedia or live vicariously through TV shows and movies.

It was just before 2 o’clock when I decided to shower.  Once I was clean, I definitely felt more awake but I still lacked the motivation required to write my stupid case study for class.  So, instead, I watched an entire disk of season six of Entourage (each disk contains four episodes, which are, like, thirty minutes in length).

Yeah. I’m that lazy.

It was after I had wasted almost an entire day that I decided I would begin the research I needed to do in order to write my case study. I hate that part, actually, because it takes such a long time. And it requires so much reading until you find a source that you can manipulate enough to support your point.  If I’m being honest, I started out with the intent of only using the bare minimum of three external sources besides our textbook. But the 95% I got on last week’s case study really got my goat, and I knew I really needed to exceed the minimum requirements.

Yeah. I’m that much of a perfectionist.

95% irritated me.

Who am I?

Anyway, my point is, I wrote a ten page research paper inside of five hours.  I also feel pretty good about this week’s case study.

Basically, like Charlie Sheen, I’m gonna put this day in the Win column.

Chief is molting.

His winter coat, apparently, has decided it is time to get the fuck out of town.

All weekend long, every time I touch him, his hair explodes off his body.  I’ve been pulling tufts of hair off of him, complete chunks of fur. It’s disgusting.

I spent the last twenty minutes of the Oscar Pre-Show brushing his hair to no avail.  It was never-ending.  Finally, after I was covered in as much fur as he was I decided it was time to put the brush away, wash my hands and take my clothes off.

So now Chiefy and I are watching the Oscars and avoiding how much he’s shedding.  He’s sitting happily out in the snow with his stuffed snowman head while I chill out on the couch with no pants on.

I’m having a grand time. And I don’t even like award shows. (It must be the no pants part that is making this night so excellent.)

ABC really knew what they were doing when they decided to have James Franco (omg boner) and Anne Hathaway host this year. Trying to grab that younger, hipper audience… well played.  They grabbed me as a viewer- which must mean I am both young and hip.

I’ll take it.

The only part I like about award shows is seeing what everyone is wearing, not that I even care who really designed the dresses each actress wears. I find the acceptance speeches excruciatingly awkward and embarrassing.  I hate all of that. I also have not seen any of the films that have been nominated this year. Not even Toy Story 3.

I’m not even pretending that it was me Justin Timberlake (omg boner) just presented an Oscar to.  There was no “I’d like to thank the academy…” coming out of my lips.  The second an actor gets up on stage to pretend they are not completely narcissistic and have to feign graciousness and genuine surprise, I leave the room to hang an article of clothing that has been resting on the biggest shelf in my room (aka the floor) for the past week.

Did you watch the Oscars? What’s your favorite (or least favorite!) part?!

So, I went out on the town with a couple girlfriends last weekend. It was the first time I did something social on the weekend in a month. I’m not kidding.

Oh, except for the weekend before, when the two other legs of the tripod came to my house and we stayed in and watched movies in our jammies.

Anyway.

For this night out, I made jello shots. It was the first time since junior year of college that I had anything to do with jello shots. I think a few years apart did some good. I wasn’t as irresponsible this time as I was when I was 20 years old. Well, irresponsible in the sense that I didn’t black out and throw up for two days.  There was no blacking out nor was there vomit this time. Just other… less-than-wise decisions were made.

I’m putting last Saturday night in the win column.

It seems that the only things I can successfully create in the kitchen are alcohol-related.

Without further ado…

ZOMG Yum!

  • 6 ounces of Jello (the big box!)
  • 16 ounces boiling water
  • 6 ounces cold water
  • 10 ounces alcohol

I used Bacardi Razz, obviously, to go with my raspberry jello but you can use whatever flavor jello and kind of alcohol you like!

The first thing I did was boil some water. I didn’t watch the pot the whole time, though, because we all know a watched pot never boils. (hahaha)

Then I poured the boiling water into a big measuring cup.

Next, I dissolved the jello dust into the boiling water.

Once the jello was completely dissolved, I poured in the cold water and my alcohol of choice.

PRETTY!!!

While the water was boiling, I set up the little cups the mixture was going to be going into.

I used the smallest little Dixie cups I could find. I put them in a cake pan type thingy to keep them all in one place and to cut down on the mess I was inevitably going to make.

I filled each cup a little less than half-full.

Told you I’m a mess-maker.

It was after this that I realized that using a ladle would be way easier.

This proved to be much easier. And less messy.

Once all of this alcoholic liquid was poured (or ladled) into the tiny cups, I was done! It was time to refrigerate those little babies.

pretty!!!!

I didn’t remember to get (attractive) pictures of them when we were consuming them. I did, however, manage to snipe a pic of Chiefy for you. He has a weird thing happening with his eyes, so we can pretend that it’s because he’s drunk/hungover even though it was mostly that I woke him up from a little catnap because he looked too cute for words all curled up on his blankie.

how cute is he!?!? Crazy eyes and all!

All I wanted to do was sneak by Stella and try to use food against her; a form of trickery used to entice her into interacting with Chief.

She was hovering at the inside staircase and, not wanting to disturb her, I thought I’d ninja my way downstairs using the other set of stairs. Only, when I tried to go in the garage and have Chiefy follow me (so Tam could talk Stella into coming into the kitchen), Chiefy wouldn’t come with me. He hovered at the top step and stopped. He gave me a look that said, “No fucking way, crazy lady.”

It was only when I saw the following when I realized that he was really saying “Kate, something is not right. There is a critter in my food bin. And it looks like it might want to kill you.”

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!!

I hopped back into the house and tried to catch my breath.

There’s a fucking possum in Chief’s food! A POSSUM!! Oh my god, Mom, what do we do?!

Remember that time I talked about how I do not possess grace under fire? Yeahhhhh.

My first instinct was to find the camera while Tam poked her head out the door, armed with the swiffer. “Oy!” she yelled and then slammed the door.

I burst into laughter while she walked back into the kitchen, trying to think of what to do.

Oy? That’s your go-to?! I don’t think possums speak Yiddish!

I could not stop laughing.

But then we got serious: What the fuck do we do?!

I was against calling animal/critter control because I am under the assumption that they come to get the animal and then kill it. I swear to the heavens that the “technician” would just tell me they weren’t going to kill it but once they take it away, they totally do kill it. That’s not okay with me. I may not want it in my dog’s food bin and so close to the entrance to my home, but I do want it to be able to find its babies and significant other and live a long, healthy life in the wild.

I’m that person that cried when I ran over a squirrel on accident. I shooed a giant-ass spider out of my room and into the cool October air using a page I ripped out of Cosmo magazine because I couldn’t bring myself to kill it. I just can’t do it. I can’t bear the thought of that little so-ugly-it’s-cute creature being put to death just because it was hunting for food.

That’s like killing Aladdin.

Not everyone can be so lucky as to marry a princess in Agrabah.

So, Tam called our old neighbor, a close family friend who came to the rescue all the other times we had weird animal issues. You know, like that time we came home from London the first time to find a duck was trapped in our chimney. We tried her first suggestion: make a lot of noise. Tam banged some pots and pans together while I let Nikki talk me into contacting Animal Control because she told me that her husband said Animal Control doesn’t kill the animals they capture.

The local office was closed and the lady answering the 1-800 number calls wanted to take my information to have a “technician” call me in the morning. I was like, “Uhm, lady, I don’t want this possum in my garage with my dog’s food all night long. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll just wing it. Thanks anyway.”

I poked my head out one more time.

This little critter had to go.

That’s when shit got real.

We both put boots on, zipped ourselves into our coats and found the thickest gloves we could find.  Tam, armed with a broom this time, tried to ninja herself past the possum and sneak attack by putting the lid to the food bin back on.  It didn’t work out as planned.  I stood, like a pansy, at the door, narrating the possum’s thoughts out loud. You know, like that’s really helpful. But when the possum showed his scary teeth and started hissing, I shut the door and whined. I opened the door again and watched as Tam tried again to put the top on.

Success!!

With the lid safely on the bin, we could begin the move down the driveway. We carried the bin filled with dog food and possum all the way down the driveway and across the street, to a nice snow bank near a bundle of trees.  The plan was that we would dump the food and the possum out of the bin and then run back towards the house.  Things went according to plan in the sense that I ran like hell through the puddles of melted snow back to the house. But I realized that Tam was still back there, with the bin of food, the snow bank and the possum.  A moment later, I saw her walking towards me with the empty bin in hand.  She had surrendered the lid and the scoop used to measure Chief’s food to the possum.

We’re gonna go see if the possum has decided to give us the lid back.

Wish us luck!

Every weekend Tam takes Chief to Petsmart.

And every weekend I hear about how much fun Chief has at Petsmart, and how everyone who sees him just falls in love with him, and how Chief makes all kinds of puppy friends. Basically everyone has a good fucking time and I miss out.

So you can bet your bottom dollar that when I saw that I had this past Saturday off from work, I was like GUESS WHAT FUCKERS! WE’RE GOING TO PETSMART!

But we didn’t get to go to Petsmart until after I went to my group meeting for my Finance class. BUT OH WAIT. While my group meeting had been set for 10:30am at the library at school, guess who was the only one there at 10:30am at the library at school. THIS GIRL. The first dude showed up at like 11:15am, the next one strolled in at 11:40am, and the last one finally came at, like, noon. WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT PART OF 10:30AM DID THEY NOT UNDERSTAND?! AND LET IT JUST BE KNOWN: I WAS NOT THE ONE WHO SET THE TIME FOR THE MEETING! MR. 11:40 DID!

JFEHE8HFEUWDPIHFUDISAFKJDSLHAI UGHHHHHHHH!!!

Anyway, that is neither here nor there.

I just counted to ten so we could calmly and rationally move on with the Petsmart story. Because I know you’re dying to know what happened.

When we pulled in the parking lot, I was still coming down from the trauma I had experienced when Tam sneak-attacked me by taking us through the carwash. Chief was cool as a cucumber through the whole ordeal but, as always, I was a basketcase. Despite the trauma, I can’t even tell you how excited I was. It was all, yes! I finally get to see Chiefy in his puppy play place!

Puppies!!

We were not inside for three minutes before he and Tam made a bee-line for the puppies to be adopted. There were two of the cutest twinsies I had ever seen! They were lab/Australian shepherd puppies and they were 12 weeks old and precious.  Chiefy knew them from his visit last week and they sniffed each other and wiggled through the cage that separated them.

Chiefy was very, very busy and, after saying hello to his puppy mates, he decided it was time to take a look at some toys and maybe pick out a bone or two.  We sniffed out the bones but they didn’t have the kind Tam likes to buy for him so then we went to investigate the section where they had those little booties they have for pets so their feet don’t get cold in the winter. Chief tried on one but it didn’t go so well. That was when we heard all kinds of commotion coming from the twin pups.

When we made our way back towards the puppies, I saw that one was being held and one was still stuck in the cage. I immediately knew what was happening. A husband and wife duo, along with their nine year old son, was adopting only one of these precious puppies.

ONLY ONE!!

The puppy in the cage was wailing and crying. The little boy knew that this puppy was facing some hard times, and he crawled in the cage to try to comfort him. Before I knew it, giant crocodile tears were cascading from my eyes and I couldn’t even pretend something was wrong with my contacts.  I quickly got Tam’s attention and told her we were either taking that extra puppy home or we needed to get the fuck out before I A) ripped that puppy from that woman’s arms and put it back in the cage with its sibling, or B) screamed at her and told her it was cruel of her to only be bringing one of them home.

We got the fuck out.

I was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown by the time we got in the car. I couldn’t stop crying even though I was embarrassed and desperately wanted to not be sobbing over the fact that a puppy didn’t get adopted that day. In fact, I cried the whole twenty minutes it took to get home.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Tam said, “you can’t come to Petsmart anymore.”

I think that’s probably for the best.