Hops in the Right Direction: Summer Camp

When I was a kid, I went to summer camp.  For three weeks every year, I spent my days swimming, sailing, horseback riding, and making really terrible crafts.  Every moment, I was with at least eight other girls my age--a summer experience unheard of on a farm.

I had a lot of fun.  I made a lot of memories.  I did a lot of lip-synching to "Barbie Girl."*

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I'm picking Prada and Stink up from my folks' house this weekend.  What with Kentucky and Mexico trips in two consecutive weeks, it seemed wisest to have my parents petsit rather than kennel Prada, who finds kennels stressful instead of fun. 

My parents have a large yard ringed by woods and two dogs of their own.  Prada's been able to play offleash outside everyday for weeks.  With other dogs who know her, and have learned to play a bit more gently with her (so as not to knock her over/piss her off).  Her days end in happy exhaustion. 

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I wonder if my parents felt guilty about dropping me off and leaving me for several weeks, or if they worried that I was having more fun and learning more than I could hope to the rest of the summer at home.  If they did, I could assure them that as fun as camp was, it was great to come home to my family and relax.

And that's why I refuse to feel guilty about leaving Prada and bringing her back home.  I'm just going to assume that she has a great time while she's there and still misses me, even though I do live in a hot, cramped apartment with no yard and no other dogs for her to play with.  In the end, I just hope that it matters most that I've missed her too.

I'm Alive! And Tan(nish)! And Clothed!

I know, I know.  I'm shocked, too.

As far as warm-locale vacations go, I'd say this one was a huge success:  this was the first one during which I did not get physically ill from a sunburn (My Sister the Lawyer's wedding--I almost missed my speech for the puking.*) or a permanent line from a blister-level sunburn (reaching all the way to my armpits--just a little uncomfortable, that**).  Three cheers for me!

And, it was relatively disaster-free.  Sure, my tank top strap broke, but it happened in the hotel room, so no biggie.  And there may have been a Marilyn Monroe moment, but no one was really looking.  And the clasp of my swimsuit top may have snapped, but the tankini portion held everything mostly decently in place, and the bit of plastic clasp that winged five feet away didn't take out a single bystander's eye.

So this was definitely my most low-key vacation.

*You know it's a good wedding when you puke through most of the reception dinner and still manage to have a great time.  Also, don't judge me.  I fell asleep on the beach and forgot to reapply my sunscreen.  It could happen to anybody.

**Yeah, okay, I forgot to put sunscreen on my neck and chest.  And then I fell asleep on the beach.  And while it could happen to anybody, it mostly just seems to happen to me.  You should probably feel sorry for me.  And send pity cookies.


(True:  I saw grown men play what was essentially floor hockey.  In the dark.  With bare feet.  With a ball that was on fire.  Did I mention the bare feet?)

I Don't Know What You're Talking About--I Am Awesome Company

Obviously, since the Dude never felt obligated to actually push me out of the moving vehicle--even after six hours trapped in it with me.  (I believe this took Herculean effort.)

YOU GUYS.  In the course of an entire weekend, I wasn't pushed out the car, or into a sinkhole, river, or off a ridge.  Nor was I made to sleep outside in the rain, in the car, or at the end of the tent with the puddle.  I got to eat on a fairly regular basis.  I wasn't even abandoned in any part of 400 miles of cave system--not even once.  Not even for a minute.

You know, for the first vacation (of two--I am a lucky bitch, aren't I?) in ten days, I feel like I'm really on a roll. 


(True:  If you're one to take advantage of the national park system or like history, geology, spooky places, or just cool stuff, I highly recommend Mammoth Cave.  It's absolutely incredible.)

Another Not-Real Post You'll Still Really Want To Read

Look, I know, I know.  I'm the worst blogger ever to not-really-blog.  But I'm working through my lunch (except for these few minutes, obviously, but I can totally type this up faster than I could pee.  Which actually, I just realized I need to do, too.) so you'll just have to deal with it.

Anyhoo...  here's some content from other, better internet places.

Click here to embiggen.

I'm that horrible, unforgiveable person who doesn't RSVP.  Ever.  I mean, I've never RSVPed to anything.  But this one...  No, I wouldn't RSVP to this one, either.  But I would put it on my refrigerator.  As a side note, "please RSVP" is redundant.  The VSP bit means si vous plait, which means please.  Your asking your guests to "please respond please."  And if they're anything like me, they still won't.  Because they're assholes.  Or just forgetful.  (Those two aren't mutually exclusive.)



While this post is quite aleatory, and I feel a measure of huzun, it's not because I'm a noceur.  Though you could accurately describe me as frowzy, wifty, aspectabund, and in a near-constant state of fernweh.  If you too, "suffer" from logolepsy and desire a verbal smultronstalle, you'll love Otherwordly.



You know what's cool?  When little girls dress like superheroes.  You know what's even cooler?

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When an artist takes these heroes seriously, and makes them come alive in awesome 2D.


(True:  I really need to know what awesome Internet thing have you stumbled across recently.)

You Didn't Find What You Were Looking For. Thank God.

I don't know about you, dear reader.  I worry about you.

Almost every day, I check what search terms bring traffic to this blog.  Frequently it's something like "sad dog" or "possum face" or "bees knees" or "hunger games nazi germany."

Okay.  I see where those are coming from.  I even see what posts those search terms would bring you to.

But every once in a while I get an outlier.

To the person who looked for "hairy ferrets":  Are there hairless ferrets?  Or are you trying to shave your ferret?  That sounds worrisome.  And wiggly.

To the person who came here looking for "hot chick with her mouth open":  What you're looking for is called porn.  This place called the internet is the land of plenty when it comes to porn, so I'm not really certain why you would choose to come to my small, self-depricating blog.  Unless you're talking about me in the summer, when my apartment is 110 degrees and I'm panting in an effort not to expire and sweating like a sweaty thing.  In which case you should know I don't post photos of myself.  And you're still a perv.

To the person who searched for "dear jesus loves everybody's":  Please finish that sentence.  Really.  Come back and let me know in the comments.  I'd really like to know.  You put in the apostrophe, so it can't be a typo.  Dear Jesus loves everybody's what?


(True:  I really hope some of these folks stick around and interesting content, even if it's not what they're looking for.  I try to be open-minded like that.  And to all you weird seach term-ers:  I wish you well and hope you find what you're looking for.  Just not here.  Because that shit's just bizarre.)

A Little Early for Mother's Day, But...

To my mom, who had to co-raise my snarky ass:


Remember when you got me a psych evaluation because I had an imaginary friend?  And the doctor told you that you had you play along, even when I said my sister had locked her in the house and we had to turn the car around and get her?

Sorry about that.

Remember that time I knocked all my teeth out and my sister told you Dad had taken me into town to get dentures?

Sorry about that.

Remember how there were never bandaids, paper towels, or scotch tape in the house?

Sorry about that.

Remember how I spilled a whole bottle of glue on the floor just a few weeks after you'd installed new carpet in my bedroom, and it never came out?

Yeah...  sorry about that too.

Remember that time I asked if people made babies the same way rabbits made babies (you know, the boy rabbit screamed and fell off), and you still didn't laugh?

I'd say sorry, but that was pretty freaking funny, now that I think about it.


Thanks for being the mom who played along.  Who didn't panic.  Who didn't ask.  Who understood it was an accident.  Who always answered my incessant and sometimes embarrassing questions seriously, so as not to embarrass me.  Because good lord, I was an obnoxious kid.

You rock.

This is the best news title ever...

"Drunk Man Assaults Stormtrooper, Ghostbuster On Free Comic Book Day, Gets Tased, Arrested By Police"

That's from Geekologie, which is pretty much where all my news comes from.

Gawker also has an article, plus this super-amazing ultra-awesome pic:

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This is why I love the Internet.


(True:  You should tell me when something awesome happens on the Internet.  You can find me, right over there, to the right.  --->)

(True:  80% of adults have trouble with left and right.  So I've provided you a helpful arrow!  not that I'm assuming my readers would necessarily be in the 80%.  You're definitely in the 20% just because you're here.)

A Poetry Slam Isn't Actually Supposed To Be Violent.

It's been a while since I've done a poetry post, and I know you, dear reader, have been desperately awaiting more of my lyrical wit...


I cooked food last night.
Dude had to eat some of it.
He is a good sport.


I went to Target
but forgot the Mt. Dew.
Life is terrible.


Trolling on Facebook.
My friends' vacation photos
make me Sad Panda.


I am wearing very bright shoes.
With multi-various hues.
When I put them on my feet
My toes tap a quick beat.
Happy sometimes comes in twos.


I once went to a poetry slam
Where everybody bitched out The Man
Though very sonorous,
I found listening onerous.
I just didn't give a tinker's damn.


(True:  It's shocking I haven't won an award for this shit yet.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Naki'o

Dude.

I can't even begin to tell you how cool Naki'o is, how wonderful the people in his life are, and how happy this story makes me.

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Meet Naki'o.  Isn't he a handsome fellow?  His name means "puddles" in Hawaiian--very suitable, given that he lost his paws and parts of his tail, nose, and ear when he fell asleep in a puddle in the cellar of the freezing Nebraska home where his pregnant mama was abandoned.  Mama didn't make it, and without the help of a lot of very special people, Naki'o might not have, either.

You see, the stumps that remained of his legs were uneven, and the bones were sharp and not suited to bearing the weight of a growing puppy.

Enter Christie Pace, who adopted Naki'o from A Puppy's Voice in Nebraska when he was just seven weeks old, knowing the trek they had ahead of them.  Christie raised the money to get a prosthetic for Naki'o's most troublesome leg, but it was OrthoPets, specializing in orthotics and prosthetics for pets, that covered (literally, heh) the last three legs.  Naki'o is the first dog to have prosthetics on all four limbs.

Christie, inspired by her experience with this special dude, founded Nakio's Underdog Rescue, a rescue dedicated to helping other disabled pets get the homes and care they deserve.

What thrills me about this story is not only the happily-ever-after this specific dog and his owner are getting--it's also the attention it's garnering.  The more examples we see of dogs like Naki'o and Rosie, where dogs and their owners overcome great disabilities with love and aplomb, the more we non-superhero-folk might realize we can help in our own small ways as well.

You can read Naki'o and Christie's full story here.

You can donate to Nakio's Underdog Rescue here.



Many thanks to Dianawesome for bringing this wonderful story to my attention.

George is a Douche-Canoe.

Oh, did you notice me rubbing my hands?  Sorry, I can't help it.  They're not sore.  Sometimes my knuckles curl my fingers into stiff claws, making movement difficult and painful, but they don't hurt much today.  Today they're just itchy and tight with tiny blisters, and I'm feeling self-conscious.

I've gotten the blisters often enough now that what used to be tender skin on the sides of my fingers are now thick with calluses.  But the blisters creep farther and farther into "good skin territory" all the time, and the trail of hardening skin follows.

On top of my fingers, running along my nail beds.

The outside of my hands, slithering up towards my pinky and down past my wrist bone.

The web between my thumb and forefinger.

Starbursting outward from the center of my palm.

When the blisters dissipate, they'll peel off in thick layers, sometimes for weeks.

It's an itchy process, beginning to end, but that doesn't bother me so much as the fact that it's ugly.  It's not terribly noticeable, but people who do see it assume it's contagious or a fungus.  It's neither, just my body going just a little out of whack, but it makes me feel dirty and embarrassed.  Maybe a little ashamed on bad days.

I have an "undifferentiated autimmune disorder."  I call it George so that I don't have to be mad at my body for being gross, but at George for making me feel gross.  And I have it mostly under control; I haven't required regular meds in almost ten years, and have only had a handful of short, mild flares in that time.  The blisters are one of the few symptoms I can't kick.

It's really not so bad.  I know I'm lucky.

But today?  This tiny reminder that my body will never function normally?

It's fucking pissing me off.


(True:  I have a happy "Hops in the Right Direction" post for you tomorrow, courtesy of my friend/cousin Dianawesome.)