Hey, nerds! Who’s got two thumbs, speaks limited French, and hasn’t cried once today?

Yes, I’m back to using Liz Lemon quotes as blog titles. They just sum up my life so perfectly.

I haven’t updated in a week, but in my own defense, I have been so incredibly busy between a new semester, a new job, a new volunteer position, new campus activities, and of course, a new football season!

That’s a heck of a a lot of new, you guys.

This semester I am taking four classes at Centenary (16 credits) and one at County (3 credits). I lucked out and all the classes are either at night or online which I prefer since these are typically taught by associate professors who are still active in their respective fields. I have Advanced Accounting II on Monday nights, Organizational Behavior on Wednesday nights, Quantitative Literacy on Thursday nights, and Management Styles and Corporate Responsibility are both online.

I’m also blessed with an amazing new job I started last week. I am working on the social media team for a well-known public relations agency and am involved with some really cool clients. I’m so excited to learn more and get some hands-on experience with a variety of brands.

Last week, I started volunteering with Eleventh Hour Rescue, a local dog rescue that I’ve admired for a long time. They go around the country (and world!) saving dogs who have been sentenced to death for no reason except a lack of room in overcrowded and underfunded shelters. I got to meet some great people and adorable pups and am hoping to get started on some fundraising, marketing, and events with them as well! PS if you’re one of my two readers, please consider taking a second out of reading this insanely interesting blog post to vote for Eleventh Hour in Chase Community Giving. They are so deserving and just one click can save the lives of countless puppies who are going to be killed for no reason. Please help them!

I’m also happy to announce that I finally worked up the courage to go to some Campus Ministry activities at our school. There are two weekly events – Worship on Tuesday nights and Food & Faith on Thursday nights. I felt very welcomed and have had some great conversations. Last night I even felt God using me to reach out to others. So awesome!

And last (but certainly not least!) it is officially football season!

My Alabama boys are currently 2-0 with crushing wins over Michigan and Western Kentucky. Our conference games start this Saturday at Arkansas.

 

{Update} Has anyone in this family ever seen a chicken?

So you may remember last November when I rescued two love-torn ceramic chickens from the depths of a bargain bin.

 

They are currently having a love-in aka tucked safely away in my basement until I move out.

This weekend while shopping for some gifts, I made an incredible discovery.

I found their mom.

The resemblance is uncanny.

I wanted to get her so badly and reunite this feathered family, but with only $13 in my bank account I had to settle for a picture.

I think I might have a problem.

PS if you don’t get the reference in the title of my post, you need to stop whatever you’re doing and go watch Arrested Development right now.

My dog is not a Sith Lord

Am I the only person who enjoys walking outside barefoot? I was walking my dog today sans shoes and I kept getting the strangest looks from my neighbors. It’s not like we live in some urban wasteland where the streets are filled with unsterilized needles and used condoms. The worst thing I could step on is a stray piece of gravel. Although, admittedly, I have walked barefoot in city streets, most notably Philadelphia’s Broad Street during a monsoon. Because I’m weird and like walking in the city rain and my feet haven’t felt any pain since I was forced to dance with blocks of wood on my toes for six years.

Besides not feeling pain I also have this abnormally large space between by big toe and the rest of my toes, on both feet. I mean, my feet are small. My toes are freaking miniscule. My nickname in dance was Twinkle Toes. I can’t even paint my pinky toe nail because it doesn’t exist. But anyway, that space is due to the fact that when I sit with my legs crossed on a couch or bed, I rest my entire top foot in between that space. Everyone thinks I’m so weird and gross, but it is so extremely comfortable and cozy.

This post is becoming all about my feet which was never my intention.

May the fourth be with you!

(My excellent method of segway in conversation is to shout-out the topic I desire to talk about. This would make me an excellent presidential candidate during debates.)

Today is Star Wars Day and also, my dog’s birthday. So in avoiding being a real person and unloading the dishwasher/putting on pants/finishing my nutrition project, I decided to have a little fun.

Did you know there are sites with free Stars Wars character printable masks?

This actually is not the first time I have used this service, but we’ll save that story for another time because I’m already turning this into the longest post in the history of time.

I decided it would be adorable to take picture of Kirby in various masks. I decided to go with an Ewok (because he looks exactly like one), Yoda (because he is wise and I like to think he speaks in the same uncompositioned way) and Darth Vader (because he is a little bit evil).

The Darth Vader one dried first, and this is what ensued:

Kirby, come here! I have a birthday treat for you! *Distracts dog with treat as I halfway fasten mask to his bandana*
Successfully attached mask, but the dog is obviously not interested in my tom foolery. Either that, or he does not want people to see his Dark Side. Oh, and at the bottom of this picture you can see part of my small toe. So the first part of this post was actually relevant and not at all rambly.
*Must destroy Dark Forces* I should really consider a career as an action shot photog.
*I haz conquered Sith Lord*. At this point, I attempted to explain how Darth was actually a good guy underneath it all and he saved his son by sacrificing himself, but Kirby was having none of it.
*I can haz treat now?* 

I’m the girl who holds squirrel funerals.

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you already know that 1. I am the weirdest person ever, and 2. I really love animals. Except for the pug, with whom I have a love/hate relationship.

I get so upset whenever I see an animal that has been hit by a car. I adore almost every animal God put on this Earth (except for spiders, scary bugs, and snakes, but no one likes those anyway).

Today, I was walking my dog when I saw a tiny, gray ball of fur curled up in our yard. I thought it was strange that an animal would be laying out in the open like that, especially considering how many hawks we have around here. I brought Kirby inside and went to go investigate.

I crept up and saw it was a tiny baby squirrel. It looked like he was just sleeping, curled up among the blades of grass. I didn’t want to leave him alone since he was so small and could easily be attacked or eaten by another animal. I took a leaf and gently brushed his back. He didn’t move. That’s when I noticed his bottom arm looked like it was bent in a funny position. I slowly rolled him over and saw that it was obviously broken and it had probably been from a fall.

This tiny, little helpless creature was dead. And I was heartbroken.

You could tell he had a family that took care of him: his fur was smooth and clean and he looked well-fed. I didn’t want to just leave him there, knowing the weather or other animals would destroy his body. So I organized a squirrel funeral.

I guessed he had fallen from a branch right above where he lay, so I dug a small hole next to the base of that tree. I laid him inside, covered him, and then placed rocks and pinecones at the head. I ran around my yard gathering flowers to cover his little grave.

I wanted his family to be able to visit him from their tree and thought he deserved a nice, little memorial. I cried a little bit and then went inside and left him to rest in peace.

I am officially a crazy person.

A different kind of dog luvr

Let me preface this by saying I adore animals. Seriously.  I’ve grown up raising money to save the rainforest and volunteering at animal shelters and I rarely eat meat.  And animals love me.  Even the ones that hate everyone else.  My best friend has a yorkie who will not go near anyone outside of the immediate family, except me.  She runs away from everyone else, but when I come over she’s all over me.

This is my 10th night of dogsitting in the past two months.  And my disdain for this dog has reached an unimaginable point.  From the second I walk in the door, the dog is all over me, scratching, barking, and displaying his constant erections like a trophy.

The grossest part is that the dog shares dishes with the owner.  Seriously.  They eat off the same plates.  This is not endearing, it’s disgusting, and the reason why I had to bring my own set of silverware and plates to avoid cross-contamination.  The house is covered in pug paraphernalia and looks like the perfect setting for a horror movie.  God help me if I’m in my thirties and living like this.

I’m definitely not the most patient person, but I’ve never had this much trouble.  And you’re talking to the girl that used to help train abused dogs and commanded birthday parties of 30 screaming 5-year-old boys.  I have tried everything I know to calm this dog down and nothing helps.

This dog had better never run for president because he will be hit with a slew of sexual harassment charges.

*Update* I’ve taken him out 5 times since 4pm and walked him for about 20 minutes. And of course he decides to poop inside on the floor. AWESOME.

Has anyone in this family ever seen a chicken?

I think I might be a hoarder.

It’s not that I have trouble getting rid of stuff – I regularly donate things or sell them in a little consignment shop a few towns over.  But I have some weird penchant for collecting crazy things that I have no immediate use for.

Today I took my monthly trip to the consignment shop to drop off winter clothes and Christmas decorations to be sold and get my money from the items that sold in the past month.  I got almost $100 which is a pretty good deal and anything that doesn’t sell in a month or two is donated.  I wandered around the shop while they went through my latest items and of course wanted to buy everything.  There’s so much fun, cooky stuff in consignment shops.  I found a gorgeous orange antique teapot that I would have snatched up right away if it hadn’t been so expensive.

I was able to resist most of the awesome things I saw, but then I came across the most amazing find ever.

Ceramic chickens.

And the best part? They perfectly match the black/red/navy theme I have for my future kitchen.  I nervously approached and checked the price. $5 per chicken.  I was smitten.

I picked my favorite out of the the four on display.  There were two pairs that matched each other, but I decided one chicken was enough.  I brought him to the counter and got ready to pay.

However, a tiny part of me felt bad for abandoning the other chicken.  Now he was third wheel to the other chicken pair.  He was probably longing for his buddy whom I was now taking away from him forever.  And yes, inanimate objects do have feelings

I asked the cashier to hold on and I ran over to grab the other chicken.  I felt proud of myself for helping to keep chicken love alive.  I’m trying to decide what to name them.  I’m thinking Fitzgerald and Jude, but I’m open to suggestions.

Be careful what you fish for

This story preludes my previously told Fishidents saga. And yes, I realize that 67% of my posts are about animal mishaps.  Deal with it.

When I was 8, my parents got my brother and I kiddie fishing poles for Christmas.  My dad grew up in the South where fishing is some sort of religious experience, and decided he wanted us to experience this “sport” in the suburban New Jersey wilderness.

When the weather finally warmed up, we started preparing for our first fishing expedition.  I spent hours practicing baiting and casting in my driveway.  I had my own tackle box and everything!

The day finally arrived and we ventured a couple miles away to a pond near our house.  It was pretty secluded, so I wouldn’t be embarrassed if I did something wrong.  We cast our lines and started waiting.

Fishing is not a good activity for a hyperactive 8 year old.  I had assumed the fish would be clamoring to attach themselves to my hook, and didn’t understand why I had to wait FIVE WHOLE MINUTES for anything to happen.  I ended up leaving my pole with my dad and ran off to collect leaves and try to find a mermaid.

Suddenly my dad called me back – something was nibbling at my line!  I scrambled over and regained control of my pole.  Something was definitely tugging!

I reeled the line in slowly, like I had been taught.  Something was jumping out of the water and I started to feel my stomach turn.  The idea of catching a fish had been glamorous, but the actual act felt pretty sadistic.  I continued to pull it in until I saw what I had actually caught.

It was a frog.

I screamed, dropped the pole, and sprinted to the car.

My dad finally coaxed me back.  He had put the frog in the cooler.  I peered over the edge and could tell he was scared.  He had a gash in his leg and I started to cry.

“I… (sob)… hurt… (sob)… the froggy!”

My dad reassured me that the frog was okay and said we could just put him back in the lake.  But I wanted to atone for my sins and insisted we take him home so I could nurse him back to health.

When we got home, I rushed to retrieve all the provisions Mr. Froggy (I’m so original) would need to recover.  Of course, the essentials included a water bowl, grass and leaves, my Raffi tape, and a bottle of No-More-Ouchie spray.

I put on the Raffi tape (he always cheered me up when I was sad) and proceeded to cover the frog in No-More-Ouchie spray.  I made Mr. Froggy a nest of leaves and made sure he had access to the water.  Then I grabbed our fly swatter and set out to hunt down some dinner for him.

My parents finally persuaded me to let my dad take Mr. Froggy back to the pond the next day.  I decided 24 hours in my amphibian ICU had done him well.  Needless to say, that was my first and last fishing trip.

I like to think that Mr. Froggy is still out there in that pond with his froggy family.  Maybe he still remembers me as the girl who ruined and then saved his life. Ribbit ribbit, my little froggy friend.

I want to save them all

I feel like the craziest things always happen to me.  Tonight, my mom was driving our fam & friends home from dinner and she decided to take the back way past our old house in Mount Arlington.  We were driving down the street, when I saw a tiny little dog suddenly run out from the sidewalk.  She was headed straight for our car and I screamed for my mom to stop.  There was no one around, so I quickly jumped out of the car and coaxed her towards me.  I scooped her up and she must have been no more than 4 pounds.  She looked like a Daschund and had a cute little pink collar, but no tags.

I went door to door trying to find her owner, but no one knew where she belonged.  How could this sweet little puppy be missing without anyone looking for her?  Finally, someone recognized the dog and pointed out that she belonged a few houses down.  This neighbor scoffed that the dog was constantly getting out and she had had to return her a couple of times herself.

This broke my heart.  How can you be so careless as to let a helpless animal run around where she will probably end up getting hit by a car or lost?!?

I brought the dog back to her owner, but it was so hard handing her over.  The guy hadn’t even noticed and even scolded the dog, calling her a bad girl.  How can you yell at this little puppy when she doesn’t know any better?!?

This has really made me want to get back to working at an animal shelter.  I interned at the SPCA in Ithaca when I was there and helped with all their events and marketing.  I used to spend my breaks playing with the animals on the adoption floor and visiting the ones that were too sick to leave yet.  It was heartbreaking, but it felt good to help those that don’t have voices.

I’d really like to work as a marketing director or executive director for a large animal shelter one day.  I want to get more industry experience in agencies and client-side companies first so I can bring more expertise to helping animals.

I have a lot on my plate, but this is too important.  I’m making a pact to get in touch with my local shelter this week.  I just have to find a way to keep myself from bringing them all home.