So help me, I will turn this apartment around!

Sushi’s a pretty kick ass dog. She likes to sleep in, she likes to cuddle, she likes to hike and ride the motorcycle and be a goofball. She gets along well with just about everyone she meets (if Sushi doesn’t like you, I don’t like you, simple as that. She’s an extremely good judge of character), plays nice with babies and other animals. The only thing she takes issue with other dogs that have to get all up in her grill. She doesn’t like that at all and she isn’t afraid to make it known.

Enter Mr. Winston Mallory, our furry house guest for the weekend.

Chill, Winston.

Winston is a pure breed Blue Heeler, a cattle dog, who likes to herd just about anyone and anything. He also has an OBSESSION with the extra folds of skin on Sushi’s neck. He is constantly trying to sniff them and/or lick her teeth. And she loves it! … Just kidding. She freaking hates it. And he tries to do it ALL. THE. TIME. So much so that “stop touching her”, “just leave each other alone” and “you asked for that one” became the soundtrack to my life Friday night. After awhile, they both calmed down and Princess Sushi tolerated the presence of the “intruder”.

Grrrr Bah Humbug

Then came the cuddle puddles! Winston isn’t allowed on the bed at his house, but when he visits Auntie Six Shooter, he’s allowed to get up there with Sushi and I. Sushi was being her usual bitchy, territorial self for awhile, but then seemed to resign to the fact that Winston wasn’t going anywhere soon and gave in. I think the belly rubs helped sway her.

Puddle o' Cuddles

I love being able to help out friends like this, seeing as how they watch my dog from time to time. It also makes me appreciate Sushi all the more. And I know that after all is said and done, she REALLY REALLY likes being an only dog.


I seeee you


Catch Up!

Apologies for the delay in posting a post, but things have been a bit hectic in my life and quite frankly, I haven’t been in too good of a mood to write anything.

Towards the beginning of October, I finally gave in to the warning signs of extreme pain my left knee and made an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon. Three days later, I had an MRI and three days after that I had a date for surgery #6. WELL, CRAP. That put a wrench in my plans, for sure. It wasn’t so much the surgery that had me bummed out, I mean, I wasn’t excited at the prospect of yet another surgery on my knee, but the consultation with the doctor is what really had, fuck, it still HAS me down in the dumps.

A little back story: In 2004, my sophomore year of high school, after an amazing season on the HS basketball team and about halfway through track season, I was playing basketball in P.E. I had the ball and was about to throw it all the way down court, I looked down to see if I had stopped walking before I chucked the ball and I watched my left knee bend, then straighten AND KEEP BENDING BACKWARDS. Then it snapped back forward and I fell to the ground, unable to put weight on it. I had torn my ACL in a really bad way. When they opened me up for surgery, they found that it was disintegrated and I had to have my leg locked straight for 3 months. When it was time for physical therapy, I literally had to relearn how to walk — scariest thing I have ever done. That was the beginning of the end for my left knee.

In 2005, I tore the cadaver ACL they had placed in my leg because I literally tried to run before I had finished learning how to walk. I ripped up some cartilage in there too.

In 2009, I slipped in the dish pit in the kitchen that I worked in at the time and tore my lateral (inside of the knee) meniscus (the spongy cushion the keeps your leg bones from grinding against each other). The doctor sewed it back together for me.

In 2011, I was on a first date with a fella (who I never saw again) walking to get some coffee and I kicked at a piece of trash on the sidewalk and tore my meniscus again, this time severely enough to have it partially removed.

In 2012, my body decided it was done having a dead person’s tendon inside of it and rejected the cadaver ACL. So the doctor replaced it with some of my own tendons because apparently your body makes spare parts(?). I still don’t understand that one, but hey, I can walk so I’ll run with it. (Ha! See what I did there? So clever.)

When I went in to talk to the doctor, he told me that my knee is degenerating. It’s rotting from the inside. Not because of a virus or a single injury, but just … because. Which is terrifying. And extremely depressing. I played basketball for 8 years and now, I haven’t played for 9. I can’t hike for more than 10 miles without limping the next day and my leg gets stiff when cold weather strikes. I have had six knee surgeries in nine years as of December 5th, I am 26 years old. TWENTY. FREAKING. SIX. And there are more surgeries in my future. Maybe not next year, maybe not the year after that, but the possibility is always there, always looming. Eventually, I will have to have a total knee replacement, hopefully after I turn 35 or so, that’d be nice.

At my post op appointment, the doc and I were going over the pictures he took while inside my knee and he showed me all the bone spurs he shaved down and all the scar tissue they scraped off of my ligaments, tendons and bone. He also showed me that my ACL is fraying. He’s hoping that the aggressive physical therapy I am currently undergoing will help me out enough that I won’t need another surgery “for 2-3 years”, but he has told me to prepare myself for that to not happen.

That’s why I haven’t felt like writing. Well, that and all the drugs I’ve been on since they opened me up. Such wonderful drugs.

On the plus side, my mother had just officially retired and came up to live with me for 3 weeks to help me out. It was the first time in 6 years that I got to spend Thanksgiving and my birthday with family (surgery was the day before Thanksgiving and my birthday was a week later). And there were really good drugs, did  I mention that?



Post Surgery Snuggles Sweet Iodine Tan

To The Rescue!

Two years ago, on September 25th, I opened my home and my heart to a snuggly, fuzzy, snorty, flatulent little animal named Sushi.

When I moved to Montana in 2008, I promised myself that when I finished school, I would look into adopting a dog. My mom has allergies so we never had a dog when I was kid (we had turtles and hamsters … just not quite the same). I knew that I wanted to adopt a pet from a shelter; I wanted to give an abandoned, lonely, down-on-their-luck pup a new forever home. However, I had a problem. The apartment building I was living in at the time had a strict ‘no pets’ policy and every shelter in town wants a landlord’s signed consent before they will let you adopt.

I had had a particularly stressful day at work, followed by a long day at school and when I got home, something made me pick up the laptop and peruse craigslist looking for a dog. I came across an ad, advertising a playful Puggle (pug and beagle mix) that was in need of a good home. There was a fuzzy picture of the blondie and I figured it couldn’t hurt to drive the hour outside of town to take a look. I hopped in the Jeep, picked up my good friend Cody and headed out to meet, though I didn’t know it at the time, the love of my life.

The story the woman had painted for me was a prettier picture than the truth. She had explained to me that she, her son and Sushi had moved here from Florida a few weeks ago and she is having a hard time finding a place she can afford that will accept pets. She is currently staying with her father, who is allergic to the dog, so Sushi gets to stay outside. All the time. In the hot sun. Tied to a tree. When I got there to see her, she had at some point drank all the water out of her bowl (or it evaporated) and the dish was bone dry. She was scrunched up in the only bit of shade the tree afforded her. When the woman released her from the leash, she ran across the yard to do her business, then ran straight back … into my arms. She didn’t try to jump up on me or lick my face and chew on my shoes, she just nuzzled into my legs and whined until I pet her.

I had already made up my mind that this was my dog. She was coming home with me and that’s that. THEN the woman’s son came home, he couldn’t be more than 9 years old, and the way he treated Sushi … I have never had a stronger urge to punch a child. He threw his toys at her face, tried to shove her into a pond, dragged her around by her collar. Much to my amazement, Sushi tolerated all of it. Didn’t snap or snarl or growl, didn’t try to run away, didn’t even yelp. I cut our conversation short, handed the woman her “re-homing fee”, told her son to stop abusing MY dog and called to Sushi. She hopped right into my car and into my life and we’ve both been the better for it.


Look at her. 3.5 years old, happy as can be and SO skinny! You can see her spine and all of her ribs. When I would walk her or take her to the dog park, people would look at me like I was the abuser–not the rescuer.

I wasted no time in bringing her along on all my adventures, taking her to edit my schoolwork, bringing her grocery shopping, taking her on drives, hikes, bike rides, doggie dates, etc. It got to the point where I couldn’t stand to leave her home. We quickly became co-dependent; I would take her to the coffee shop down the street and leave her with my friend while I got drinks, I’d come back outside to a report that she wouldn’t stop whining until she could see me again.

There is nothing more gratifying than coming home to her after a long day; she is ALWAYS excited to see me. She is a snuggler by nature and LOVES to sleep in, she puts up with my photography projects, is always ready to hike … or crawl back under the covers. She is an incredibly quick learner and I love her to pieces. Even my boyfriend understands that he comes in second place in my heart; she and I have formed a bond I never knew could exist.

She’s a good mover.

Moving Day

She’s a fantastic adventure buddy.

Adventures! More Hiking Pirates For Life

She’s always there when you need her. (Bonus: This is my FAVORITE picture of my Dad and my dog. He came up to MT to stay with me for 6 weeks when I had knee surgery #5 last year; they were immediately best friends.)

Dad and the Dog Surgery Snuggles

She got to experience snow for the first time two winters ago. She thinks it’s a treat and loves it when someone lobs snowballs for her to chase and devour.

Winter Fun

She likes to be with me at ALL times. As a matter of fact, she is curled up on the couch with me as I write this, snoring away.


She’s naturally photogenic.


Have I mentioned her need to be with me …






Too Close

While I may have rescued Sushi from her neglecting family, I didn’t realize until later just how much she rescued me. I am in a much happier, calmer place than I was two years ago. Sometimes, I would want to spend the whole day in bed and just ignore the world. There were entire weekends when I didn’t even go outside. Granted, there are still some days we stay in the house lounging in pajamas all day, but when I wake to find myself using her butt for a pillow or there’s a paw in my face, or she has once again stolen most of the blankets, I can’t help but smile. She gives my life meaning each morning. She motivates me to keep my house clean, to be active and healthy. She reminds me to be relaxed and easygoing, to take time out to play and time in to recharge. If I didn’t have her to cuddle up to at night, to hold when I’m sad, to talk to when I’m alone … she has done, and is still doing, great things for me.

Two years ago may have been the only time in my life that driving to Corvallis was a good idea. I went out there offering a good home and big heart and got so much more.

She doesn’t come without baggage, though. In the way she shies from your touch if you reach down towards her too fast, it is evident that she has been beaten/had things thrown at her. In the way that she winces and yelps when anyone other than me plays with her ears too long or too roughly, it is evident that she is used to having them tugged on violently and often.  And yet, she runs up to strangers, loves to be loved, is constantly finding a lap to sit on or a car to jump. If this little dog, who has gone through so much, can forgive and forget, why can’t I?

Puppy Love IMG_2996

Banana Full of Lies


Rumor is afoot that the town I live in is slated to get not one, but TWO Sonic restaurants.


The ONE and only time I have ever visited a Sonic was one of the single worst experiences of my life. I had my hopes and dreams dashed upon the rocks of reality and was forced to swallow a lie of epic proportions. Okay, so maybe the lie was actually a banana and maybe I didn’t swallow it so much as spit it out in the parking lot. Come hither and heed my warning!

Way back in the golden age of 2009, I made a mistake – or rather, a string of mistakes. The first one being the idiot I was dating at the time. It was closely followed by the mistake of asking him to come to California with my best friends and I to meet my family at Christmas. We decided to rent a car, since it was cheaper than four plane tickets and awaaaaaay we went! We rotated seats, shuffling between driver, shotgun and bunny watcher (did I forget to mention that we brought a caged rabbit with us? Surprisingly, that decision didn’t make the list of mistakes like I thought it would. And I’m not just saying that because her owner reads this blog; having Buns along was a real comfort).

At first, the trip was going pretty well. Spirits were good, hopes were high, tempers were low and patience was in good supply … much like the beginning of every game of Oregon Trail ever played. And we all know how well those turned out, but I digress. This story isn’t about the trip so much as it is about an act of malicious deceit. (Suffice to say that we all made it alive and no one needed salt rubbed in their wounds.)

We traveled about halfway and checked into a modest little hotel that had comfy beds and clean towels. The mistake I dated and I wanted some food, so we took off on our own side adventure and found the main street of Nowhere, UT and sized up our options. I’m not a fan of fast food, although I will admit I have a weakness where Taco Bell is concerned when I’m feeling extra lazy, so I wasn’t too happy with any of the available choices. At this point, I was ready to go to bed hungry and just stop at an Albertson’s the next day to get something. Seeing my utter lack of interest in any place, Mistake preyed upon my extreme hunger and suggested Sonic. He talked it up so much, saying he loved to eat there when he lived in New Mexico. Which, honestly, should have been my first clue; no one likes living in New Mexico. So I relented and chose to give it a try.

We pull up to the menu board and … I want none of it. It doesn’t sound good. At all. Maybe if I had been with someone else. Maybe if it wasn’t 10:30pm. Maybe if everything wasn’t smothered in either chili or fudge sauce, things could have been different. Just maybe. I’ll never know. Then I saw it. Way off too the right hand side, toward the bottom: Banana $1. It felt like a gift from the food gods. “Don’t go hungry,” they said. “Here is an delicious, nutritious snack to get you through until you can find an open grocery store!” I was so excited! Not just because it wasn’t smothered in something, but because it was a BANANA. At a DRIVE THRU. How many times have you gone through a drive thru and gotten a banana?! As those of you who know me know that I get over excited about the little things, you could imagine how tickled I was at the prospect of ordering a banana. I clapped my hands like a small child who meets Santa for the first time and bounced up and down in my seat. Seriously. There were witnesses. We go through the long process of ordering what Mistake wants and when the disembodied voice asked “Anything else?” I lost control and yelled: BANANAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Nothing but static answered me. Then, in excruciating slow motion, is appeared on the menu screen. We drove around, paid for our food and took the bounty back to the hotel room, with me squirming in the driver’s seat the whole way. I practically tore into the bag as soon as we got in the room, loudly exclaiming my good fortune to my traveling companions.

If I were a man, I would say:

                Fun Fact: I like my bananas like I like my women, tender and of age. Not bruised, but not firm.

This banana looked PERFECT. It smelled PERFECT. I peeled it, my mouth watering, and took a big bite … and then I died a little inside. It was gross. Possibly frozen. If you had told me that it had been picked from a banana tree 5 minutes before I ordered it, then chucked in a bag and passed into my eager hands, I would have called you a liar. I would have said that it had been plucked 30 seconds before it was given to me. The outside was the right color of yellow tinged with the slight browning that comes with age. I was crushed. I started to question all of my choices in life. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what to say. Everyone was staring at me. I quietly got up, walked out the door and spit the banana into the bushes. Then I calmly went back inside, holding back the tears as best I could and … made everyone else try the nasty banana. When we were all in agreement that it was gross, I threw it away. In the outside trash. Staying in the room was too good of a fate for it. When Mistake suggested that I leave it in the fridge over night to see if it would ripen up, I almost clawed his eyes out. How could he not understand? How could he suggest such a thing? How could I have been so foolish as to think that a drive thru banana would be able to serve my needs?

Nothing made sense anymore. I didn’t talk again until the next day, when I say a Chipotle and screamed out its name, effectively scaring the shit out of everyone else in the vehicle. I found solace in that sweet burrito’s embrace. I was made whole again by the marinated chicken and cilantro lime rice. Life made sense, in fact, I began to see things clearly for the first time in a long time. And I broke up with Mistake shortly after returning to Montana.

Unfriending Anniversary

Well holy crap, would you look at this: after an almost two month hiatus (due mainly to extreme procrastination and laziness) I am BACK!

Remember that one time where I started a blog and was like “yeah, I’ll totally write in this at least every other day and I’ll post a picture once a day”. HA! Oh, the foolishness of youth.

This isn’t going to be too long of a post because I’m on my lunch break at work, but keep checking back because there WILL be new posts often. Promise. Not a promise like the last one, I mean it this time. Don’t look at me like that, baby. I didn’t mean to hit you. You just make me so mad sometimes. I still love you. Just don’t ever burn dinner again. Or else.

Well, that got a  little weird for a moment there. Anywho, here’s what I wanted to tell you!

Facebook. I’m not ashamed to admit that it’s a big part of my life. However, I feel like I should be ashamed to admit that I’m not ashamed to admit that. It helps me keep tabs on my boyfriend, check in with family, trade recipes with friends’ moms, post a zillion pictures of my dog, reconnect with high school friends and whatnot. It also reminds me of a lot of stuff. One of those things is birthdays. Which helps me tremendously; I remember the dates of those closest to me, but as the friend count continues to grow, my mind gets a little fuzzy.

I realized today that I have gotten in the habit of unfriending people on their birthdays. Facebook tells me it’s John Doe’s birthday and I think to myself “Why are we still friends?” or “He’s still alive?!” The more I started thinking about it, the more it made sense. What a PERFECT day to unfriend someone! Chances are, if you can’t remember the last time you hung out with Doe, he can’t remember the last time he hung out with you. Furthermore, if you can’t remember the last time you wanted to hang out with Doe, it’s a safe bet that your friendship, however feeble it may have been, has been hit by the semi truck of refined friend taste and left to die on the side of life’s highway somewhere. You know the saying “let sleeping dogs lie”? The same can be said about used condoms on the beach and discarded friendships.

Now, some of you might be thinking: did you really just compare growing up and apart from someone you once held dear to finding a used condom on beach? No, no I didn’t. I compared the used prophylactic with unchecking the FRIENDS button on the page of someone who sat behind you in Econ 101 3 years ago.

Others of you might be thinking: how could you be so cruel on their birthday?! Step back from the situation for a second. Take a deep breath. Have a piece of candy. Or a beer. Now come back, with a level head and ask yourself what better day is there?! If you sit and stare blankly at the comment box, searching for the words of well wishing for this much-removed companion … why are you friends in the first place? You hid them from your newsfeed months ago, this day was long in the making and yet you hesitate, hovering the mouse over the button that seals their fate. IT’S THEIR BIRTHDAY. All 357 people on their friends list got the same sidebar notification that you did, how are they going to notice if your congratulations on their ability to rotate once more around the sun isn’t there??

With my friends, I always try to write a little something special, or spell things backwards or find a funny/inappropriate video or picture. I feel that, because I link these to my facebook page, people will now look for my birthday posts on their walls. And, just because I like to stir the pot (and possibly in part due to the fact that I live in MT and it’s an hour later here than the motherland of CA) I might wait until the very last second to write something, just to keep them on their toes. [INSERT EVIL LAUGH HERE]

Since I’m at work, I don’t have a picture for you, but you should watch this. Because it makes me happy. And since you’re ready my blog, I am going to continue assuming the world revolves around what I want.

Pity Party Hats

Pity Party Hats: that’s what I would come up with for the most depressing ‘Before and After’ puzzle they could think of on Wheel of Fortune, if I were one of their writers (which is probably why I am not employed by them).

Holy shit balls today was a tough day, friends! Let’s explore why …


I work a swing shift, I get off work anywhere from midnight to 2am, depending on when I came in and/or if I decide to work late. Therefore, I don’t get up before noon on most days because I get home and take the dog for a walk, read, play video games and crash at about 3 or 4.  Well, this morning I had to get up early because Sushi had a vet appointment. I rolled out of bed this morning at about 8am, after getting 5 or so hours of sleep. I figured I’d just head home afterward and take a nap, no biggie, right? WRONG. HORRIBLY, HORRIBLY WRONG.

Side note: Sushi has a great vet. He is thorough with each ‘patient’ and takes time to answer any and all questions you may have, so there is typically a bit of a wait when you get in if he is still dealing with a previous pet.

This morning was no exception. Sushi and I waited. And waited. And waited. When we finally got in to see him he told me not to worry, she was just having an allergy flare up and that all I needed was to up her dosage of Benadryl and apply some cortisone cream.

By the time we got home, I had decided it was time for some spring cleaning because I didn’t want Sushi to be reacting to something in the house. So 3 shaken blankets, liberal sprays of dusting polish and 20 minutes of vacuuming later, I was done. Fuck the dishes. They can wait. Until I die. And then someone else can do them.

At this point in my day, I’m thinking I’ll take a hot shower and relax, then get a nap before I head into work. So I get the warm water flowing, the shampoo is in the hair, so I start to wash my face. I use an oil free acne cleanser with “microbead technology”. It’s a fancy way of saying “there’s little balls about 3/4 the size of airsoft pellets for you to rub on your face and get clean, you dirty acned freak”. I’m scrubbing away at my face like normal and then BAM! PAIN! Some how I had gotten a microbead in my eye. I WAS UNWILLINGLY EXFOLIATING MY RETINA! It hurt so freaking bad and I couldn’t get my eye open long enough to get it out, so I hopped around in the shower like an epileptic attempting to do the hokey pokey. An epileptic with advanced stage tourettes, mind you.

Fuck It Burns!

So, after this incident, I was pretty much wide awake and there was no possibility of a nap, so I plopped down on the couch to watch Hunger Games to make myself feel better that I wasn’t being hunted through the forest and systematically murdered. It kind of helped, but then I realized that if I can’t even shower safely, how would I survive the Hunger Games? I’d like to think I’m savvy enough to murder 23 children ranging in age from 10-19, but I don’t know if I’ve got it in me.

So off to work I went! I love my job, I love the company I work for and I enjoy the company of most of my coworkers. I am the ‘nightshift manager’, (it’s in quotes because most people have no idea what my real job title means, so this is easier), I work alongside my people and give them a gentle push when they need to get back on track. However, tonight they got to see not-so-gentle Six Shooter. Three of them had been there for about a half hour, but no work had gotten done. They were just chatting. So, I spun around in my chair and the conversation went a little something like this:

Six Shooter: “Is anyone actually working over there?”

#1: “I’m on [blankity blank] show.”

#2: “Yes.”

#3: “I’m logging in.”

Six Shooter: “But what are you actually doing??”

#1: “Talking.”

#2: “Talking.”

#3: “Talking … internet.”

Six Shooter: “WORK!!!”

And then the boyfriend called to tell me about how I am going to have to jump through hoops to use the truck I needed to do his laundry on Friday, because he gave the truck to someone else for these days on and now his brother needs it because he’s moving this weekend. I’m pretty sure after I said “Are you freaking kidding me? You ALWAYS double book shit and now you’re hosing me again!!” I just made raptor noises into the phone for a good 30 seconds. I told him I was at work and if he could please give me a few to calm down, I would much appreciate it if he could call back. You know how I know he loves me? All he said was “You must be really stressed, I’ll call later, babe. Love you.” I have THE best man in the world.

So I called down a little bit and got my stress under control so I was prepared when he called back, I apologized and told him about my day. He listened with the patience of a saint, adding an “uh huh” or a “whaaat??” every once in awhile so I knew he was still listening. Then I went back to my station and dove into my work.

I’m tood-a-ling along in Mountain Men footage, working on an ice fishing scene when I witness something I have never seen before: a man breaking a fish’s neck. It never occurred to me before tonight that this was even possible. I don’t know why, but I’d never thought about it before and after I watched it, I couldn’t help but go back and watch it again and again.

Dead Chubb

It’s staring into my soul.

It also didn’t help that the one place to set my water just happened to be right next to the bottle of hand sanitizer. On the plus side, my lips are so clean and alcoholy fresh.

Mmm ... Sanitation

Just when I think my head might explode with my overwhelming done-ness with work, I receive an fantastic text message

Friends Are Great

And the sweetest facebook post from my fella:

I know your having a rough day baby. Just wanted to say I love you and miss you very much. I am almost always thinking about you. I hope today gets better.

As I sat there reading this message from Nick, I attempted to pull my hoodie sleeve higher up my arm, my hand slipped and I punched myself right in the boob. I am the motherfucking picture of grace.

I come home to a comfy couch and an oh-so-happy dog. The plus side of upping Sushi’s Benadryl intake is that, while she was already so loving and cuddly, she has now become Booshertin McStevens, Cuddler Extraordinaire. It took me awhile to write tonight’s blog because I didn’t want to move my right arm too much and risk disturbing her.

Cuddles McGee

As promised, here is my Pity Party Hat … it wouldn’t give one to Sushi, but she was invited to the party anyway. What a freaking day.

Pity Party Up In Here Snapshot_20130411_3

Sushi Boosh and Methamphetamines

For those of you who don’t know my dog, Sushi, is the shit. Everyone loves her, wants to feed her, pet her, steal her. She takes all of this attention in stride and never let’s it go to her head … yeah, right. She’s a little princess(to be read ‘little shit’) and she knows it.

She has some really weird conceptions as to how the world works. Granted, we’ve done a lot of training together, but she still has a mind of her own and a nose that gets her into trouble.

Whenever she hears/sees someone open a car door, WHETHER WE KNOW THAT PERSON OR NOT, she feels the need to hop in their car and whine at them because she’s ready to go and their slowness upsets her. At our old house, the first apartment where she lived with me, she JUMPED OVER A CHILD STRAPPED INTO A CAR SEAT to sit on the other bucket seat in the mini van … even though the door on the other side of the van was wide open. She tried to ride off into the sunset with the UPS man last week and when nothing else will get her off the hill behind our house, all I have to do is ask her if she wants to go for a ride and she tears up the distance between us in a heartbeat.

She also likes to wander into other peoples’ houses. About a week or so after we moved into the place we live now, some other fella was moving in around the corner. Sushi had wandered down that way to eat the cat food that the guy at the end of the balcony puts out for strays. When I got to the corner, she wasn’t scarfing down the free eats that I was hollering at her for. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. As I’m starting to panic thinking she ran downstairs, across the yard and into the street, I walk past an partially open apartment door and hear: “Hang on little puppy, let’s call your parents” right as my cell phone starts to ring. I knock on the door and answer the phone to reclaim my retarded dog and that’s how I met Oscar.

Just yesterday when I took her out for the day, she ran right into the neighbor’s apartment to play with their poodle, who yaps loudly whenever she sees Sushi. So I’m calling for Sushi, the old man is calling for Patti and his wife comes out the bathroom, mop in hand, wondering what the hell is going on in the living room. They were really nice about it this time and WE are striving for there not to be a next time. Okay, so maybe I’m striving and Sushi is just going to do whatever the hell she wants. Someday, though, I just know she’s going to wander into someone’s meth lab mid cook and then we’re both dead. Or maybe I’ve been watching too much Justified, I can’t rightly say for sure.

My favorite part about when she gets in trouble for not listening? Is that after I drag her butt back to the house, and I mean almost literally drag; she slinks around and sits down when she knows she’s in trouble, after the ‘time out’ of making her lay on her bed for 20 minutes alone in the bedroom, I call her to me and she comes running. With such joy that I said her name and want her to be around me again. She plants herself between my feet and leans hard on me, looking up at me, licking me, wiggling her tail so hard that her whole back half shakes.

So I’ve spent most of my evening (morning?) after work enveloped in Sushi cuddles, which is one of my favorite places to be.

Belly Rubs All Around Pay Attention To Me Stop Cursing, It's Just A Game, Stupid

Boys Have A Penis, Girls Have A Vagina

If your childhood was amazing like mine, then you watched a ton of Schwarzenegger movies like I did. One of my absolute favorites, as in one that I have on DVD at the age of 25, is Kindergarten Cop. Little did I know at the time, but this movie was going to shape my perceptions of  men and women all with this wonderful little exchange …

And then I started dating and men shattered the simpleton idea I had of what made men and women different. A friend’s mom recently shared this on Facebook and while I think it’s funny in it’s exaggeration, it’s really not too far off.

No, I Said Push The YELLOW One, Dipshit

Over the years, I have learned a lot about men and the way they think, so much so that some of them are convinced that I am one of their own and if I start acting like a lady now I will lose their trust. Out of the handful of men that I have dated, which I realized the other day is quite a diverse handful (different ages, heights, weights, races and sexual preferences [that last one was not a reason to date them, it was a reason to break up]), not a single one of them knew much about women. Although, to be fair, the one that eventually came out of the closet knew more about women that the rest of them combined.

Men and women hear, say and think things differently; so here’s the breakdown …

1. Hearing things

–A man says: I promise; he hears: There is a 50/50 chance that I will do what I just said I did. More so if I didn’t have a controller in hand or the tv was turned off.

–A woman says: I promise; she hears: I will follow through on this because I said would do it. You have every right to be upset if I don’t come through for you.

–Six Shooter says: I promise; she means: I promise.

2. Saying things

–A man says: Yes, that sounds good; he means: Yes, that sounds good.

–A woman says: Yes that sounds good; she means: Well, I suppose we can do that. I would like this plan better if it were my idea.

–Six Shooter says; Yes, that sounds good; she mean; Yes, that sounds good.

3. Thinking things

–A man says: Let’s go out to dinner; he thinks: Let’s hit up the drive through so we can be back in home in time for the game or my raiding party to start.

–A woman says: Let’s go out to dinner; she thinks: Wine me, dine me, woo me.

–Six Shooter says: Let’s go out to dinner; she thinks: (when in CA) CHIPOTLE!!, (when in MT) SAWADEE!!

There are times where I think like a man (like when the boyfriend was bumming out last Sunday because he had to go back to work for two weeks, so I dragged him to the video store to rent Tarentino’s Man with the Iron Fists, a kung-fu movie that mostly takes place in a whore house) and sometimes I think like a woman (I wanted nothing more than a bubble bath, champagne and dark chocolate after a tough week at work). Most of the time though, I think like Six Shooter: I get disappointed when people say something and can’t follow through, I get upset when people can’t say what they mean and mean what they say, I like Starburst when I’m stressed, love it when my boyfriend plays with my hair and get irritated when people can’t bother to be on time.

I strive to treat people in my life the way I want them to treat me. That is especially true where significant others are concerned. I cook, I clean, I give massages, I listen, I follow through, I treat friends to dinner, I open my house to the weary and downtrodden, I offer up my special reserve when someone is having a tough night, I’m punctual, kind, a good fist in a fight, a strong shoulder to cry on and always there when you need me (even if you didn’t know you did).

I was talking with my Abba the other night about a fight I had had with a fella and asking him if I was being too much of a girl about it. His response is why I have always been and always will be a daddy’s girl:

“Aww, kiddo. You’re not overreacting, you’re being you. You can be more intense than other people because that’s just who you are. You feel things differently, deeper than others. Your mother and I have always seen a great empathy in you; you hurt when others hurt. And when others hurt you, you get cut deeper than people know. You hide it well too, and bottle it up. Which is why we loved that cartoon Katie Ka-Boom so much. Relationships are work, they’re give aand take. Women take 80%, men give 20% … well, more like men give 10% *laughter* You’re fine, darlin. I love you and just give him some time to show you he cares, men take awhile to grow up and get their heads out of their asses.”

As I have believed for most of my life, Dad knows best.

And just for shits and giggles, here’s an episode of Katie Ka-Boom from the Animaniacs show. My parents thought it was SO funny; when I was younger, I was NOT amused. Now I can’t help but smile.

The Butthole Surfers and Chocolate Milk

I have had a whirlwind of a week, kids! And it’s only Tuesday!

A few weeks back, I applied for a job logging video for a reputable production company. I didn’t hear anything, I pined away and eventually I gave up. Since first attending the School of Journalism at UM, I knew that I wanted to work in a production house. News is cool and all, but I am a creative type. The monotony of news day in and day out grates on the souls of those who aren’t invested in it. I have never wanted to be an investigative journalist, I am not interested in scooping the story before the other stations. I have an eye for good angles, creative shots, good colors, interesting sequences and eye-catching interview shots. None of which you really see in news. So, why was I there you ask? Because that job came to me when I needed it. I feel fortunate to have had a full-time job when I got out of college and to have worked alongside intelligent people who know what they’re doing (well, for the most part).

The part that makes me feel really fortunate? This new opportunity I was given. Just when I had reached the end of my rope with my current job situation (the early hours, the lack of uplifting comments, the feeling that you’re doing something wrong but no one will tell you what it is, the early hours, the monotony, the feeling that your skills are getting rusty because you’re not using them to the best of your ability, the early hours), this one kind of fell in my lap. I had an interview that went amazing, I feel like I fit right in and that these are demented, creative, like-minded people that I can really be myself around. I was over qualified for the position I applied and they “didn’t want to lose [me]” so they created a position just for me! Good pay, WAY more agreeable hours and it has put me on the career path that I truly want to be on!

It is a very humbling and inspiring experience to be sought after by a company you truly want to work for. They wanted me ASAP, so it looks like double shifts for the rest of this week and then who knows what the schedule will be. So, this may be the last blog entry for a little while (I say that like I’ve been regular about updating this. HA.) Before I got the call inviting me to accept my new position, I decided that Sushi and I should go on a hike so that she would stop asking me to play with her slobbery, disintegrating rope toy and so I could get my mind off of things for a little bit. Here’s a few gems from the trip:

Winter Is A Pretty Bitch Oooh, I'm So Damn Artsy

Anywho, I bet by now you’re all like “What. Der. Fuck. This doesn’t have anything to do with The Butthole Surfers OR chocolate milk. I’m done reading now … unless she is just about to explain it, so I’ll keep reading just a little bit. Damn, she’s just so cool. I wish I could be like her. And her dog is so freaking cute. Daaaaamn.”

When I am feeling good, I have this inexplicable urge to listen to The Butthole Surfers, who are most well known for their song Pepper (heard here), but they have other songs, like Dust Devil and one of my favorites Cough Syrup. They’re great to rock out to in the shower and even better for lifting my already lofty spirits.

THEN I got this AMAZING idea that I needed chocolate milk. So, yesterday I went and bought NesQuik. Much to my dismay, I realize I do not have enough milk to make a proper glass of choco milk. Therefore, a gallon of milk was purchased this afternoon to remedy this tragic situation.

I Always Act My Shoe Size, Not My Age

I also had the time to get my Ray Ban pilots fixed. HUZZAH!!


And as a final farewell tonight, here is The Butthole Surfers’ rendition of Summer in the City!