Animal/housesitting for my jetsetting parents this weekend. The dog and cat would like to share with you how that is going so far.
The Dog's Day
8:00 AM: Oh wow! You're awake! Yay! My favorite thing!
8:30 AM: We're going outside! My favorite thing!
9:00 AM: Running around the yard! My favorite thing!
10:00 AM: Cuddling on the couch with my person! My favorite thing!
12:00 PM: Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 PM: A nap! My favorite thing!
2:00 PM: Playing ball! My favorite thing!
5:00 PM: Dinner! My favorite thing!
6:00 PM: A back rub! My favorite thing!
8:00 PM: Outside! My favorite thing!
11:00 PM: Treats and bedtime! My favorite thing!
The Cat's Day
It's Day 3 of my captivity since the people left and their Youngest Offspring has inhabited the home. I make my displeasure in the changing of the guard clear at irregular but frequent intervals. I get the best reaction when I 'discuss' the matter with Offspring between 0200 hours and 0400 hours. Especially if I enhance the conversation with my claws.
On Day 2, at 1400 hours I caught Offspring dining on fresh packed tuna while the other inmate and myself were left to attempt to stomach some sort of dry protein nuggets. While I make my contempt for the inadequate rations perfectly clear, I reluctantly eat the offerings. I must maintain strength.
I was almost successful in an assassination attempt this morning by weaving around Offspring's feet while she was walking on the slick kitchen floor. Will try again tomorrow, earlier in the morning to capitalize on the pre-coffee fog the Offspring often seems to suffer. And at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the Offspring has brainwashed the other inmate. The dog is a totally flunkie. He is occasionally released, but seems more than willing to return. Obviously retarded. But also seems to be entitled to special privileges, including periodic treats for completing idiotic tasks. Perhaps I will 'consult' with him later on his strategy.
When I sleep on the Offspring's shoulder, she seems to find it endearing and talks to me in the most obnoxious voice and fails to use complete sentences. I endure, and continue to keep my friends close and enemies closer...
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
First Casualty
It is with great sorrow that I am here tonight to report to you that marathon training has claimed its first victim: my right pinkie toenail.
It went peacefully and without pain. No blood, no bruising. The nail has simply disappeared. In fact, I can't even pinpoint exactly when it happened.
One down, nine to go. It's gonna be a closed-toe-shoe summer, I think.
It went peacefully and without pain. No blood, no bruising. The nail has simply disappeared. In fact, I can't even pinpoint exactly when it happened.
One down, nine to go. It's gonna be a closed-toe-shoe summer, I think.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Weekend.
New coffee mug. Sleeping in. Sunshine pouring in the windows. Fresh almond rhubarb coffee cake. Home brewed beer. A long, healthy run. Completed painting. Raucous one-woman dance party (or two or three dance parties!). A Sunday afternoon football game. Fantastic company. Games of fetch. Delivery pizza. Good night phone call.
Happy is so easy to find some days.
Happy is so easy to find some days.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Slumber Party
Host: Myself.
Guest: Willow. A 50-something pound poop-eating, lefse-stealing, ball of anxiety shaped like a yellow dog.
10 pm: Dog so exhausted she cannot even stay on the couch with the rest of the family. Must get on the floor and sigh heavily to ensure that all family members realize she is tired and would like to go to bed.
10:20 pm: Confusion of epic proportions when "Willow's people" go upstairs (where she would normally sleep) and dog is being herded into basement bedroom with perma-squatter (co-owner of dog and home's younger sister-- yours truly).
10:30 pm: Dog must pace like caged lion and blow air and dog snot onto every item at dog level in the room.
10:31 pm: Whines at door.
10:31 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
Guest: Willow. A 50-something pound poop-eating, lefse-stealing, ball of anxiety shaped like a yellow dog.
10 pm: Dog so exhausted she cannot even stay on the couch with the rest of the family. Must get on the floor and sigh heavily to ensure that all family members realize she is tired and would like to go to bed.
10:20 pm: Confusion of epic proportions when "Willow's people" go upstairs (where she would normally sleep) and dog is being herded into basement bedroom with perma-squatter (co-owner of dog and home's younger sister-- yours truly).
10:30 pm: Dog must pace like caged lion and blow air and dog snot onto every item at dog level in the room.
10:31 pm: Whines at door.
10:31 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
10:31 pm: Whines at door.
10:32 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
10:32 pm: Whines at door.
10:32 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
10:32 pm: Whines at door.
10:33 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
10:33 pm: Whines at door.
10:33 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
10:34 pm: Whines at door.
10:34 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.
10:35 pm: Dog is told "That is quite enough of that!"
10:35 pm: Dog makes sad eyes, lays on the floor.
10:36 pm: I foolishly apologize to dog for asking it to behave and getting results.
10:45 pm: I post photo of Neurot Dog to Facebook, wondering via the internet if this was really a good idea...
11:05 pm: Dog gives in, decides it is tired, and hops into bed. Curls up behind my legs and gives a "happy ending to a happy day" sigh.
11:06 pm: All is peaceful in the kingdom.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Katie International Yellow
Dear Misters Picasso, Van Gogh, Warhol, Close, and Johns,
You know you guys are "my boys." The ones I can always rely on to make me smile with whimsical subject matter, the perfect use of bold color, and a true talent for making everyday objects and occurrences feel more alive and more beautiful. Nothing can take that away from you and nothing ever will. However, after witnessing an incredible display of the works of Yves Klein at the Walker Art Center last night, I would like us all to consider him for membership in the exclusive Association of Katie's Favorite Creative Artists.
I understand he is not as well known as most of you, but I think his application warrants examination given some very strong characteristics:
1. His talented use of a blow torch. And not to inflict pain upon himself, Mr. Cuts-Off-His-Ears Vincent. Yves (yes, we're on a first name basis) torched some wood-backed cardboard and it turned in to fabulous and provocative pieces that I think highlight how elemental art and design are.
2. He wears a bowtie and at least two out of the three pieces of a three-piece suit while torching. (See above photo for reference).
3. He invented his own color. His own color! And it is named after him: Klein International Blue.
4. He's got a pretty good way with words.
For me, each nuance of a color is in some way an individual, a being who is not only from the same race as the base color, but who definitely possesses a distinct character and personal soul. -- Yves Klein
Overall, gentlemen, I do not believe that Klein's inclusion into the Association will overshadow any of the contributions any of you have made to the art world, and specifically, to my art world.
Please consider my request seriously and provide a response to my inquiry soon. If I am difficult to reach in the next few days, it is simply because I am busy perfecting the formula for Katie International Yellow.
With highest regards,
XOXO,
Katie
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The Usefulness of High School English Lit, in Everyday Adult Life
Author's Note of Warning: This is not really an exciting story. In fact, the first sentence is "Last night I ate an apple."
Last night I ate an apple. A fairly benign, common activity that I engage in almost daily. And a little piece of the skin of the apple got stuck between me teeth. Assured that it would simply dislodge on its own or after I brushed my teeth, I ignored the tiny chunk. After brushing my teeth I noticed it was still firmly lodged between two teeth, just below my gum line. Annoyed, but not really bothered, I went to bed.
All night I would run my tongue across the back of my teeth and feel just the slightest bit of apple peel poking out, taunting my with its refusal to vacate. I started to wonder what might happen to me if I left a piece of apple peel unattended between my bicuspids. And that's when I was jettisoned back 7 years to World Literature in high school when we read the story The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.
In case you haven't read the story, here's the plot in a nutshell: Traveling salesman Gregor Samsa wakes up one morning to find himself no longer man, but rather a large beetle-like bug. As the sole bread winner for his parents and sister, he is unable to keep his job as a traveling salesman.* His family cares for him for a while, but eventually must start working. They also decide to allow lodgers to rent space to stay in their home, leaving Gregor alone in his room for all of his time. At some point, and I can't remember the exact circumstances around it, Gregor's father becomes angry with him or afraid of him and starts throwing apples to scare Gregor back into his room. One of those apples becomes lodged between the plates of exoskeleton on Gregor's back. The apple eventually leads to an infection that contributes to Gregor's death.
Surely, I have placed the dots and you can connect them yourself. And you can see why I might be slightly panicked about the apple peel that has not succumb to vigorous brushing, drinking copious hot and cold fluids, floss, or a toothpick. Gregor was killed by a lodged apple. Though not a beetle, I can only imagine that my demise is coming in much the same manner in a time frame much shorter than I had originally planned.
I never thought it would be death by apple.
*I can't even buy encyclopedias from the Mormon and Jehovah's Witness church members. I certainly would be unlikely to buy much from a beetle.
Last night I ate an apple. A fairly benign, common activity that I engage in almost daily. And a little piece of the skin of the apple got stuck between me teeth. Assured that it would simply dislodge on its own or after I brushed my teeth, I ignored the tiny chunk. After brushing my teeth I noticed it was still firmly lodged between two teeth, just below my gum line. Annoyed, but not really bothered, I went to bed.
All night I would run my tongue across the back of my teeth and feel just the slightest bit of apple peel poking out, taunting my with its refusal to vacate. I started to wonder what might happen to me if I left a piece of apple peel unattended between my bicuspids. And that's when I was jettisoned back 7 years to World Literature in high school when we read the story The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.
In case you haven't read the story, here's the plot in a nutshell: Traveling salesman Gregor Samsa wakes up one morning to find himself no longer man, but rather a large beetle-like bug. As the sole bread winner for his parents and sister, he is unable to keep his job as a traveling salesman.* His family cares for him for a while, but eventually must start working. They also decide to allow lodgers to rent space to stay in their home, leaving Gregor alone in his room for all of his time. At some point, and I can't remember the exact circumstances around it, Gregor's father becomes angry with him or afraid of him and starts throwing apples to scare Gregor back into his room. One of those apples becomes lodged between the plates of exoskeleton on Gregor's back. The apple eventually leads to an infection that contributes to Gregor's death.
Surely, I have placed the dots and you can connect them yourself. And you can see why I might be slightly panicked about the apple peel that has not succumb to vigorous brushing, drinking copious hot and cold fluids, floss, or a toothpick. Gregor was killed by a lodged apple. Though not a beetle, I can only imagine that my demise is coming in much the same manner in a time frame much shorter than I had originally planned.
I never thought it would be death by apple.
*I can't even buy encyclopedias from the Mormon and Jehovah's Witness church members. I certainly would be unlikely to buy much from a beetle.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Ignorance is Definitely, Definitely Bliss
My feelings about having committed to running a marathon in 2011 are quite mixed. I bounce somewhere between "omigoshthisissoexciting" and "What. The. Hell. Was I thinking?! And why did I tell anyone I was going to do this?"
In my moments of panic I did what I do best: I turned to Google for the answers. Keywords such as first marathon, marathon training, and 26.2 miles led me to a beautiful land full of healthy bodies, comforting and cushioning running shoes, and finisher's medals boldly engraved with personal bests.
Relax, Katie. This is going to be great.
I took the advice of some fitness ladymag to read, read, read everything I could about marathons and training for the big run.
Doing just that this morning, I found the eggshell in the marathon cake (which until that moment I was having, and eating, thankyouverymuch).
Marathon injuries.
My first instinct was to close the browser, grip the hazelnut latte for comfort, and go back to Finisher's Medal Dreamland. But logic told me to "read, read, read."
Blisters. Okay, really? I mean, this makes sense to me. What I considered a relatively benign symptom of training kind of grossed me out when it was recommended that I pop them so as to not "interfere with my training schedule" and even recommended popping them if they occur on race day. Yes, please excuse me while I sit down on the road, sterilize a safety pin, leak the fluid from my feet, and apply a cool, dry bandage to the affected area. Riiiiiight.
Black toenails. "You're running a marathon?! You know all your toenails are going to fall off?" That is all I have heard in the last 4 days since I decided to blab blab blab that I was going to run a marathon. Is this what people think is encouraging? It does, however, seem to be painfully true. All the running websites say the same thing: no worries, it will grow back in 3 to 5 months. Kiss those toenails goodbye. Guess I will be saving on nail polish for the year.
Chafing. Let's be honest (if not a bit grotesquely blunt), by 'chafing' the websites really mean 'bloody nipples.' And maybe some other irritation, but mostly bloody nipples. Luckily, this is a much more common affliction amongst male runners, but I think I might do a little prophylactic taping myself. To be on the safe side. There are some injuries I am willing to sustain (blisters) and some I am not (anything not a blister).
Sprains, Strains, and Stress Fractures (oh my!). It turns out, this is up there with one of the least healthy things an individual can do to their body. As I stated earlier, I am looking at well over 400 miles of running in the next few months. I am bound to do something stupid and hurt myself. On a related topic, running mags tell me my heart will also burst open. Well, fabulous.
Sunburn. Sunburn?! After losing all the nails off of my blistered and swollen feet, hardly hanging on by the strained, sprained, and otherwise broken bones throughout my ankle and foot I am supposed to worry about sunburn?! Moreso than the fact that my heart is going to burst out of chest? Or that the distance is supposedly going to prove to be too great a mental challenge for my 5 mile brain? SPF that. I'll get a sunburn if I want to, lame running ladymag. I have earned the damn sunburn.
Two points of good marathon news: today was Day #1 of training and I went to the gym before work, ran my (very few) miles, and survived. Training for this is easy. So far. Second point of good news: marathoning has made me create a new label for these posts! Wooo! You now have greater filtering capabilities than you had 30 seconds ago.
I mean, that's somethin'.
Au revoir, mes amis. Bonne nuit.
In my moments of panic I did what I do best: I turned to Google for the answers. Keywords such as first marathon, marathon training, and 26.2 miles led me to a beautiful land full of healthy bodies, comforting and cushioning running shoes, and finisher's medals boldly engraved with personal bests.
Relax, Katie. This is going to be great.
I took the advice of some fitness ladymag to read, read, read everything I could about marathons and training for the big run.
Doing just that this morning, I found the eggshell in the marathon cake (which until that moment I was having, and eating, thankyouverymuch).
Marathon injuries.
My first instinct was to close the browser, grip the hazelnut latte for comfort, and go back to Finisher's Medal Dreamland. But logic told me to "read, read, read."
Blisters. Okay, really? I mean, this makes sense to me. What I considered a relatively benign symptom of training kind of grossed me out when it was recommended that I pop them so as to not "interfere with my training schedule" and even recommended popping them if they occur on race day. Yes, please excuse me while I sit down on the road, sterilize a safety pin, leak the fluid from my feet, and apply a cool, dry bandage to the affected area. Riiiiiight.
Black toenails. "You're running a marathon?! You know all your toenails are going to fall off?" That is all I have heard in the last 4 days since I decided to blab blab blab that I was going to run a marathon. Is this what people think is encouraging? It does, however, seem to be painfully true. All the running websites say the same thing: no worries, it will grow back in 3 to 5 months. Kiss those toenails goodbye. Guess I will be saving on nail polish for the year.
Chafing. Let's be honest (if not a bit grotesquely blunt), by 'chafing' the websites really mean 'bloody nipples.' And maybe some other irritation, but mostly bloody nipples. Luckily, this is a much more common affliction amongst male runners, but I think I might do a little prophylactic taping myself. To be on the safe side. There are some injuries I am willing to sustain (blisters) and some I am not (anything not a blister).
Sprains, Strains, and Stress Fractures (oh my!). It turns out, this is up there with one of the least healthy things an individual can do to their body. As I stated earlier, I am looking at well over 400 miles of running in the next few months. I am bound to do something stupid and hurt myself. On a related topic, running mags tell me my heart will also burst open. Well, fabulous.
Sunburn. Sunburn?! After losing all the nails off of my blistered and swollen feet, hardly hanging on by the strained, sprained, and otherwise broken bones throughout my ankle and foot I am supposed to worry about sunburn?! Moreso than the fact that my heart is going to burst out of chest? Or that the distance is supposedly going to prove to be too great a mental challenge for my 5 mile brain? SPF that. I'll get a sunburn if I want to, lame running ladymag. I have earned the damn sunburn.
Two points of good marathon news: today was Day #1 of training and I went to the gym before work, ran my (very few) miles, and survived. Training for this is easy. So far. Second point of good news: marathoning has made me create a new label for these posts! Wooo! You now have greater filtering capabilities than you had 30 seconds ago.
I mean, that's somethin'.
Au revoir, mes amis. Bonne nuit.
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