Friday, January 25, 2013
New Chapter... More Words
New blog has started for anyone who visits this page and likes what they see.
Monday, January 16, 2012
My Final Post
...for this blog, that is. Life has simply stopped handing me the kind of lemons that made this work. In fact, life has handed me something that makes all the ghosts of lemons past go away. I simply can't contribute to this blog in the way I did before, so it's time for it to retire.
Oh, I'm going to leave it here in cyberspace. Maybe some broken-hearted girl will stumble upon it and my words will make her smile. Maybe not. Either way, I am too proud of my work to completely delete it.
We're on to a new chapter in life! Planning our wedding, purchasing our first home together... there's going to be PLENTY of material there. And should we ever decide to reproduce- well, you won't want to miss THOSE stories, believe me.
I wouldn't if I were you.
My love and I are currently working on a joint blog. If you enjoyed my writing here, I think it's worth following to see what happens next in my crazy, amazing life! The blog was inspired by our love for each other and um, for shooting each other in the face with Nerf guns for sport.
Thank you for reading and willing me to write even when all I wanted to do was cry.
XOXOXO Amanda
Oh, I'm going to leave it here in cyberspace. Maybe some broken-hearted girl will stumble upon it and my words will make her smile. Maybe not. Either way, I am too proud of my work to completely delete it.
We're on to a new chapter in life! Planning our wedding, purchasing our first home together... there's going to be PLENTY of material there. And should we ever decide to reproduce- well, you won't want to miss THOSE stories, believe me.
I wouldn't if I were you.
My love and I are currently working on a joint blog. If you enjoyed my writing here, I think it's worth following to see what happens next in my crazy, amazing life! The blog was inspired by our love for each other and um, for shooting each other in the face with Nerf guns for sport.
Thank you for reading and willing me to write even when all I wanted to do was cry.
XOXOXO Amanda
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, How Tempting Are Thy Branches... and Ornaments... and Lights
The war over the family Christmas tree has begun. I recently made the mistake of remarking to someone that my cats don't really bother my tree too much and that I've never really had a problem.
This is so not true. I seem to suffer from some freakish form of amnesia that makes me say this same thing year after year when this is completely not the case. I think I like to block it from my mind and make my cats seem angelic or perhaps better than the average housecat. Or maybe I don't want to think about my gorgeous tree with its pink lights and girly ornaments being savaged by naughty little felines.
My domesticated cherubs hear the irresistible call of the wild twice a year. It happens in the springtime when the windows are first opened and the birds and bunnies are out in plain view. They run from room to room, sitting in each windowsill making these strange, almost primal noises (I assume they are fantasizing about catching said birds and bunnies and feasting on them) and running headfirst into the screens when the urge to maim and kill overcomes them (this slight head trauma usually brings them back to reality for the remainder of the season).
All is well after that until the Christmas tree goes up in late November. Like I said, I told someone that my cats don't mess around with my artificial 7 foot tall beauty. False, false, FALSE. From the moment I brought the box down from upstairs last Sunday, my cats have been on high alert. They immediately starting sniffing the branches I had strewn around while simultaneously trying NOT to look too interested but I knew damn well that by the end of the night one of them would be going all Cliffhanger on me and climbing that tree.
I'm not sure which one was up in the branches when I woke up around 4 a.m. to use the bathroom that next morning but I could hear the whole tree shaking. I was too tired to do anything more than yell in a half-assed manner (which the culprit completely ignored, by the way) but I have my suspicions as to who it was.
Who it probably WASN'T: This guy. This is Binxy, and this is a photo of Binxy doing what he does best. His other favorite pasttimes are eating and hiding from everything. The only time he comes out is when he needs his food freshened (that's right, freshened. He doesn't like it when food sits in his bowl too long so I have to add fresh food and mix it up) or when he decides I should pet him, which happens about once a week. Otherwise he doesn't bother anyone and prefers to live a hermit-like existence in the basement or spare room. He simply can't be bothered with activities that thin, active cats partake in, such as trying to destroy the household Christmas tree.
As far as I know, the only thing that can entice Binxy to exert any energy (besides hearing me shake the bag of cat food) is if there is a box laying around that is way too small for his portly body. Then he's all up in it.
Lily didn't worry me too much this year because she is still wearing The Dreaded Cone. Or she was. I saw her try to take a running leap into the tree branches the other night, only to be snapped backwards because her cone wouldn't fit. (As a brief history, Lily intermittently has to wear the cone because of an injury she had when I initially found her. She has very sensitive skin on her face and sometimes scratches it too much, causing it to bleed.)
However, I came home yesterday to find The Dreaded Cone on the ground and Lily was MIA. She's like a little cat Houdini the way she can wriggle out of that thing and disappear into thin air (she seems to realize that once I catch her the cone has to go back on). If Lily is going to fuck my tree up, it'll be at night or when I'm not here. And it'll be out of spite, a revenge killing of my tree for making her wear that cone.
This brings us to Kenni and Meredith.
Meredith is kind of the wild card. At nine, she is the oldest cat in the house which means she spends most of her time hissing at everyone else and laying in my lap. Or in the sink (hey, she prefers FRESH water). However, she has taken an open interest in the tree this year and as I lay on the floor typing this post she is lurking under it, probably reverting back to her kitten days and plotting which ornaments to knock down and drag off into oblivion.
Then there's Kenni, my little crackhead kitty. Kenni has been a maniac from the time she was a wee little kitten, so if anyone is going to completely annhilate the Christmas tree this year it will be her. While I was putting ornaments on earlier, she was laying on the table next to the tree and blatantly swatting at anything in her reach, not even caring that I was right there scolding her. When I tried to brush her off the table and away from the tree, she bit me.
A video should honestly be done about Kenni in the style of the Honey Badger. I can hear Randall the Narrator's voice now: "Crackhead Kitty don't care. Look at her! Crackhead Kitty takes what she wants. So nasty! Oh look, she's chasing things and eating them."
(Maybe Kenni and Meredith are secretly mad at me for giving them fucked up names. In my defense, and as I have tried to explain to them time and time again, I was NOT responsible for naming them. Both were named by exes, I had zero to do with it.)
A whole branch was pulled out of the center pole this evening. No one would confess.
You know who DIDN'T do it? My best buddy Joe! He loves Christmas and his mama!
I give my tree two weeks, tops. I can already envision myself coming home from work to find it tipped over and all cats off in hiding except Kenni, who will likely be sitting on top of it looking pleased with herself. I am going to attempt to weight it down at the base but I think this will only make it more of a challenge for them. Either that or they'll get bored and someone will pee on it.
This is Christmas in the Miles house! Never a dull moment when you have a cat menagerie.
This is so not true. I seem to suffer from some freakish form of amnesia that makes me say this same thing year after year when this is completely not the case. I think I like to block it from my mind and make my cats seem angelic or perhaps better than the average housecat. Or maybe I don't want to think about my gorgeous tree with its pink lights and girly ornaments being savaged by naughty little felines.
My domesticated cherubs hear the irresistible call of the wild twice a year. It happens in the springtime when the windows are first opened and the birds and bunnies are out in plain view. They run from room to room, sitting in each windowsill making these strange, almost primal noises (I assume they are fantasizing about catching said birds and bunnies and feasting on them) and running headfirst into the screens when the urge to maim and kill overcomes them (this slight head trauma usually brings them back to reality for the remainder of the season).
All is well after that until the Christmas tree goes up in late November. Like I said, I told someone that my cats don't mess around with my artificial 7 foot tall beauty. False, false, FALSE. From the moment I brought the box down from upstairs last Sunday, my cats have been on high alert. They immediately starting sniffing the branches I had strewn around while simultaneously trying NOT to look too interested but I knew damn well that by the end of the night one of them would be going all Cliffhanger on me and climbing that tree.
I'm not sure which one was up in the branches when I woke up around 4 a.m. to use the bathroom that next morning but I could hear the whole tree shaking. I was too tired to do anything more than yell in a half-assed manner (which the culprit completely ignored, by the way) but I have my suspicions as to who it was.
As far as I know, the only thing that can entice Binxy to exert any energy (besides hearing me shake the bag of cat food) is if there is a box laying around that is way too small for his portly body. Then he's all up in it.
Lily didn't worry me too much this year because she is still wearing The Dreaded Cone. Or she was. I saw her try to take a running leap into the tree branches the other night, only to be snapped backwards because her cone wouldn't fit. (As a brief history, Lily intermittently has to wear the cone because of an injury she had when I initially found her. She has very sensitive skin on her face and sometimes scratches it too much, causing it to bleed.)
However, I came home yesterday to find The Dreaded Cone on the ground and Lily was MIA. She's like a little cat Houdini the way she can wriggle out of that thing and disappear into thin air (she seems to realize that once I catch her the cone has to go back on). If Lily is going to fuck my tree up, it'll be at night or when I'm not here. And it'll be out of spite, a revenge killing of my tree for making her wear that cone.
This brings us to Kenni and Meredith.
Then there's Kenni, my little crackhead kitty. Kenni has been a maniac from the time she was a wee little kitten, so if anyone is going to completely annhilate the Christmas tree this year it will be her. While I was putting ornaments on earlier, she was laying on the table next to the tree and blatantly swatting at anything in her reach, not even caring that I was right there scolding her. When I tried to brush her off the table and away from the tree, she bit me.
A video should honestly be done about Kenni in the style of the Honey Badger. I can hear Randall the Narrator's voice now: "Crackhead Kitty don't care. Look at her! Crackhead Kitty takes what she wants. So nasty! Oh look, she's chasing things and eating them."
(Maybe Kenni and Meredith are secretly mad at me for giving them fucked up names. In my defense, and as I have tried to explain to them time and time again, I was NOT responsible for naming them. Both were named by exes, I had zero to do with it.)
A whole branch was pulled out of the center pole this evening. No one would confess.
You know who DIDN'T do it? My best buddy Joe! He loves Christmas and his mama!
I give my tree two weeks, tops. I can already envision myself coming home from work to find it tipped over and all cats off in hiding except Kenni, who will likely be sitting on top of it looking pleased with herself. I am going to attempt to weight it down at the base but I think this will only make it more of a challenge for them. Either that or they'll get bored and someone will pee on it.
This is Christmas in the Miles house! Never a dull moment when you have a cat menagerie.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Writer's Block
Writer's block is a real bitch.
I don't know if it's the lack of heartache in my life or the abundance of happiness, but I don't have shit to write about. I've never had it this bad before. Frankly, I'm a little concerned.
I thought it would be really easy to write about the adventures my love and I have had the past eight months. And maybe those words will soon be able to flow, because there certainly are some entertaining stories to tell.
But I've had writer's block for almost two months now and it isn't getting better. I've tried drinking mass quantities of wine and posting, which generally results in an intellegible, half-finished post that never sees the light of day.
This really sucks ass. I don't have better, more descriptive words for it than that. Just know I've been working on stuff, but that stuff normally gets deleted because it sucks.
Tips for writer's block cures are completely welcome in the comments section!
I don't know if it's the lack of heartache in my life or the abundance of happiness, but I don't have shit to write about. I've never had it this bad before. Frankly, I'm a little concerned.
I thought it would be really easy to write about the adventures my love and I have had the past eight months. And maybe those words will soon be able to flow, because there certainly are some entertaining stories to tell.
But I've had writer's block for almost two months now and it isn't getting better. I've tried drinking mass quantities of wine and posting, which generally results in an intellegible, half-finished post that never sees the light of day.
This really sucks ass. I don't have better, more descriptive words for it than that. Just know I've been working on stuff, but that stuff normally gets deleted because it sucks.
Tips for writer's block cures are completely welcome in the comments section!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
"You Can't Save Everything."
I have been told this time and time again all my life in regard to homeless, abandoned animals. Even as a young girl, I would try to save injured birds, homeless cats, stray dogs. I have never been able to turn my back on an animal in need. I have let strays hop in my car, went to the dog warden and "bailed out" I dog I hadn't even MET, taken in injured cats and nursed them back to health- the list of things I have done for these helpless creatures is extensive.
I'm not writing this to pat myself on the back or brag. I'm writing because I have taken in another animal in need and frankly, I had forgotten how rewarding it is. I received a text from a co-worker on Monday talking about a dog who had been THROWN FROM A CAR and left in the street. The dog was understandably bewildered at having been dumped like a piece of trash and apparently hopped right in the car of my co-worker's friend, who took her in for the day but wasn't going to be able to keep her into the night. If she couldn't find someone else to take the dog, the only alternative was the dog warden.
I wrestled with this for a good hour or so while at work. I knew I had enough pets (four cats and a giant, slobbery Boxer) but I also knew that this animal would certainly be put to sleep because she was part Pitbull. I literally made my decision while heading home from work- I swerved from one side of the highway to the other to meet Rescuer #1 (also named Amanda) in downtown Toledo to pick up this poor animal.
I was wondering what I got myself into on the way to get the pup. Any apprehension on my part completely vanished when I pulled up and saw the dog hop out of the car.
She was absolutely precious. She had the head of a Pitbull but the body of a stocky Bassett Hound- she looked like a midget Pit! Her face was sweet and she had a wagging tail despite the ordeal she had been through. So what did I do? I immediately starting crying like a little baby in front of Amanda and her daughter. I couldn't control it- I was unable to wrap my head around how someone could throw away any dog like a piece of trash, let alone THIS little angel.
(May I take this moment to say that I wholeheartedly hope that there is a special place in hell for the asshole who dumped her and that he or she spends eternity in a continuous loop of riding in a car, being booted out onto concrete and nearly run over by another car over and over and over again. And THAT, my friends, won't be punishment enough in my eyes.)
Anyway. Roxy (had to call her something, I spent the first day calling her "Puppy" and "Little Fatty"- she's quite the porker) fits in very well at our house. Joe Boxer ADORES her and loves having a constant companion to wrestle around with. The cats aren't thrilled with yet another lumbering beast in the house but they're dealing with it. Unfortunately, my darling boyfriend doesn't think we should keep her so I will be fostering her until she finds a forever home through Planned Pethood (or until he has a change of heart- I'm still holding out for that).
This blog isn't humorous like my normal posts, but I needed to take the time to share Roxy's story and remind everyone that when searching for a new pet, ADOPT A SHELTER DOG! And please, do your research before making such a large commitment- a pet is a big responsibility, and he or she will depend on you to be the best owner you can be.
Report any animal cruelty to your local authorities! Donate to shelters this holiday season, even if you only donate an hour of your time to play with a shelter pet!
And, without further delay, I am pleased to introduce you to Miss Roxy!
I'm not writing this to pat myself on the back or brag. I'm writing because I have taken in another animal in need and frankly, I had forgotten how rewarding it is. I received a text from a co-worker on Monday talking about a dog who had been THROWN FROM A CAR and left in the street. The dog was understandably bewildered at having been dumped like a piece of trash and apparently hopped right in the car of my co-worker's friend, who took her in for the day but wasn't going to be able to keep her into the night. If she couldn't find someone else to take the dog, the only alternative was the dog warden.
I wrestled with this for a good hour or so while at work. I knew I had enough pets (four cats and a giant, slobbery Boxer) but I also knew that this animal would certainly be put to sleep because she was part Pitbull. I literally made my decision while heading home from work- I swerved from one side of the highway to the other to meet Rescuer #1 (also named Amanda) in downtown Toledo to pick up this poor animal.
I was wondering what I got myself into on the way to get the pup. Any apprehension on my part completely vanished when I pulled up and saw the dog hop out of the car.
She was absolutely precious. She had the head of a Pitbull but the body of a stocky Bassett Hound- she looked like a midget Pit! Her face was sweet and she had a wagging tail despite the ordeal she had been through. So what did I do? I immediately starting crying like a little baby in front of Amanda and her daughter. I couldn't control it- I was unable to wrap my head around how someone could throw away any dog like a piece of trash, let alone THIS little angel.
(May I take this moment to say that I wholeheartedly hope that there is a special place in hell for the asshole who dumped her and that he or she spends eternity in a continuous loop of riding in a car, being booted out onto concrete and nearly run over by another car over and over and over again. And THAT, my friends, won't be punishment enough in my eyes.)
Anyway. Roxy (had to call her something, I spent the first day calling her "Puppy" and "Little Fatty"- she's quite the porker) fits in very well at our house. Joe Boxer ADORES her and loves having a constant companion to wrestle around with. The cats aren't thrilled with yet another lumbering beast in the house but they're dealing with it. Unfortunately, my darling boyfriend doesn't think we should keep her so I will be fostering her until she finds a forever home through Planned Pethood (or until he has a change of heart- I'm still holding out for that).
This blog isn't humorous like my normal posts, but I needed to take the time to share Roxy's story and remind everyone that when searching for a new pet, ADOPT A SHELTER DOG! And please, do your research before making such a large commitment- a pet is a big responsibility, and he or she will depend on you to be the best owner you can be.
Report any animal cruelty to your local authorities! Donate to shelters this holiday season, even if you only donate an hour of your time to play with a shelter pet!
And, without further delay, I am pleased to introduce you to Miss Roxy!
Monday, September 12, 2011
I Have Nothing Interesting To Write About, So Let's Discuss Dog Urine
After some thought, I have decided that there's no need to delete this blog and start fresh- at least not in the near future. I see some changes on the horizon that may warrant a new blog but for now my life, while borderline disgustingly happy on the relationship front (at least to outsiders- I'm perfectly fine with disgustingly happy, as long as we don't ever get to the "You hang up!" "No, YOU hang up!" "I'm not hanging up till YOU hang up!" stage), still has plenty of lemony stories just waiting to be told.
For example, Joe Boxer has decided to make my oh-so-comfy La-Z-Boy recliner his own personal piss pad. The first time it happened, a few weeks ago, he did it WHILE STILL LAYING IN THE RECLINER. The little asshole was too lazy to get up and properly pee on something, or, God forbid, walk seven steps to my room to alert me that he needed to go outside.
In his defense, he was on Prednisone at the time due to his allergies spiraling out of control. A side effect of Prednisone is a constant need to urinate. This medication didn't just make Joe have to pee frequently, it made him pee for what seemed like minutes on end. At one point while out in the yard relieving himself, I saw him look back at his own doggy penis as if he were thinking, "Shouldn't it have stopped by now??" He then switched legs, putting his right hind leg on the ground and his left hind leg in the air. It was insane, the amounts of pee.
Anyway. So he was urinating frequently. No big deal. He even peed on the way to the sliding door once- I was willing to overlook that as it was on my hardwood floor (easy clean-up) and I knew he was making a genuine attempt to go outside before tinkling everywhere.
The Pissy Recliner is a whole different matter.
As I mentioned, he didn't even get up, he just remained in a comfortable position on the recliner and let the urine flow. Again, I turned the other cheek and cleaned the mess- poor baby was having an allergic reaction and was on medication.
Then he did it again while I was at work, except this time he had been off the medication for a few days. I was highly pissed (haha, get it?) and even yelled at him a little for his misbehavior (he went and laid under the dining room table and made me feel bad, so of course I had to go apologize and pet him and give him lots of treats).
It happened again last Thursday. LAST. STRAW. I thought my head was going to explode. So did Joe.
I may have to get rid of my super soft, ultra comfy recliner. I do not know if it will come clean and even if it does, my dog, who I am currently referring to as "Joe Pisshead," may very well soil it again- which would likely result in me screaming at Joe Pisshead, Joe Pisshead retreating to safety beneath the dining room table and me drinking a beer and feeling really, really bad for making Joe Pisshead feel sad enough to hide and therefore crawling under the table with him and apologizing profusely.
Twice now I have almost flopped down in The Pissy Recliner without thinking. I miss being able to sit in my living room and read a book (I don't like my couch). I am not looking forward to the day Dave sits in it without thinking- Joe Pisshead and I both will probably need to hide under the dining room table.
The Pissy Recliner doesn't bother Joe Pisshead- he is still using it for his afternoon naps despite my attempts to deter him from doing so. This morning I flipped The Pissy Recliner upside down so he couldn't lay in it and/or pee on the seat, although I am sure he will just pee on the side of it instead- my punishment for moving it so he couldn't lay on it.
Note: Please refrain from comments involving seeking advice from Cesar Milan- I shunned him and his methods a long time ago. There is no reason why my dog and I can't share the same fork or co-sleep. None. You won't convince me, so I am saving you the trouble.
Note #2: No, Joe Pisshead does not have a urinary tract infection. He's just being an asshole.
For example, Joe Boxer has decided to make my oh-so-comfy La-Z-Boy recliner his own personal piss pad. The first time it happened, a few weeks ago, he did it WHILE STILL LAYING IN THE RECLINER. The little asshole was too lazy to get up and properly pee on something, or, God forbid, walk seven steps to my room to alert me that he needed to go outside.
In his defense, he was on Prednisone at the time due to his allergies spiraling out of control. A side effect of Prednisone is a constant need to urinate. This medication didn't just make Joe have to pee frequently, it made him pee for what seemed like minutes on end. At one point while out in the yard relieving himself, I saw him look back at his own doggy penis as if he were thinking, "Shouldn't it have stopped by now??" He then switched legs, putting his right hind leg on the ground and his left hind leg in the air. It was insane, the amounts of pee.
Anyway. So he was urinating frequently. No big deal. He even peed on the way to the sliding door once- I was willing to overlook that as it was on my hardwood floor (easy clean-up) and I knew he was making a genuine attempt to go outside before tinkling everywhere.
The Pissy Recliner is a whole different matter.
As I mentioned, he didn't even get up, he just remained in a comfortable position on the recliner and let the urine flow. Again, I turned the other cheek and cleaned the mess- poor baby was having an allergic reaction and was on medication.
Then he did it again while I was at work, except this time he had been off the medication for a few days. I was highly pissed (haha, get it?) and even yelled at him a little for his misbehavior (he went and laid under the dining room table and made me feel bad, so of course I had to go apologize and pet him and give him lots of treats).
It happened again last Thursday. LAST. STRAW. I thought my head was going to explode. So did Joe.
I may have to get rid of my super soft, ultra comfy recliner. I do not know if it will come clean and even if it does, my dog, who I am currently referring to as "Joe Pisshead," may very well soil it again- which would likely result in me screaming at Joe Pisshead, Joe Pisshead retreating to safety beneath the dining room table and me drinking a beer and feeling really, really bad for making Joe Pisshead feel sad enough to hide and therefore crawling under the table with him and apologizing profusely.
Twice now I have almost flopped down in The Pissy Recliner without thinking. I miss being able to sit in my living room and read a book (I don't like my couch). I am not looking forward to the day Dave sits in it without thinking- Joe Pisshead and I both will probably need to hide under the dining room table.
The Pissy Recliner doesn't bother Joe Pisshead- he is still using it for his afternoon naps despite my attempts to deter him from doing so. This morning I flipped The Pissy Recliner upside down so he couldn't lay in it and/or pee on the seat, although I am sure he will just pee on the side of it instead- my punishment for moving it so he couldn't lay on it.
Note: Please refrain from comments involving seeking advice from Cesar Milan- I shunned him and his methods a long time ago. There is no reason why my dog and I can't share the same fork or co-sleep. None. You won't convince me, so I am saving you the trouble.
Note #2: No, Joe Pisshead does not have a urinary tract infection. He's just being an asshole.
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