"Soon you will know the midnight poop cry."

That's a direct quote from Hannah to me.

See, this morning around 3 AM, little Spence started whining in his crate.  I assumed he wanted to sleep in my bed, since he is spoiled, but after springing him, he seemed uninterested in doing anything but pacing, so I put him back in the crate.

Where he whined.

For three more hours.

Meanwhile, I (being heartless) yelled at him repeatedly to just stop and go to sleep already.  Because surely he was just whining because he was being a brat.

Around 6 AM, I'd had enough and took him to the bathroom so he could grab a drink, thinking that might settle him down enough so I could have a half hour more of sleep.

But as soon as I put him down on the linoleum, his ass literally (thanks, Chris Traeger*) exploded. Apparently you can fit 15 pounds of poop into a 10 pound bag.


(Sorry for the imagery there, but I believe in accuracy.)  (Also, thank you, Spence, for not pooping on me while I carried you to the bathroom. I know you probably wanted to.)

He's off at the vet's now, getting checked out, and I feel pretty bad about making him wait those extra three hours to relieve himself.

But as Hannah said -- this is a mistake a pet owner only has to make once.






* For your viewing enjoyment (never fear, there is no poop):

It's the ides of March, and I'm feeling persnickity

1. Why do people post questions that are easily googleable as a tweet, instead?  "Anyone know where to find good panna cotta?" As a matter of fact, Yelp does.

But I suppose asking Yelp would deprive you of telling all your tweeple that you're into highbrow pudding.

2. Mad Men returns in a week and a half and I could give a crap. This is what happens when you have more than a year between seasons -- people find other TV to love.  I was once super into the world of Sterling, Cooper, Draper, Price and eighteen months later I'm into Westeros, Mystic Falls and Hershel's farm.

You're a pretty man, Don Draper, but there's another guy in town who looks just like you and is much funnier. His name is Sterling Archer and he may have some mommy issues of his own, but at least he's never expected me to think his journal is deep.

Give my regards to Joan.

3. I got some Hunger Games-themed nail polish for my birthday. It's really cute and I'd post a picture, except for some reason all of the pictures on my blog went away. I don't know how to fix that problem and to be honest, I probably won't try.

4. I think the reason why I don't really get the wedding pinboards on Pinterest (aside from inherent creepy stereotypicalness of it all) is that my one and only really great idea for a wedding is to have a string quartet play really slowed down versions of songs like "The Final Countdown," "Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car," "Africa," and "We Built This City (On Rock and Roll)" and then watch guests squint their eyes and try to figure out why the music seems so familiar.

Try and pin that one, mo-fos.

Just like Shane, I'm back from the dead

Heeeeeeey. (That was the sorority girl in me.)

So I'm back to our regularly scheduled programming.  I have every intent to start blogging on the reg again, commenting on other peoples' blogs, and anonymously stalking weirdos who overshare on the internet. (Don't act like you don't do it, too.)

What has been up with me since I last (legitimately) checked in?

Well, f to the y i, my house is a little cuter, my office a little messier, my ass a little smaller, my dating life still a total disaster, Spence is still adorable, and I recently spent way too much at the Nordstrom's preview event for City Creek Mall here in New Denver.  (Oh lingerie ladies ... you really know how to sucker a girl into buying far too many expensive bras.)

I think that's all the updating for now - I can't rush into my return to InternetLand, so I'll just leave you with this fun exchange from the Casa de Diego, Hannah, Ru, Spence, and Charlie:

"So you guys watched Game of Thrones and fell asleep on the couch with no fooling around? Trust me, he's your boyfriend."  Hannah to Diego.

Two posts in a week? Crazy!

Yes friends, it's true.

Busy season at my work is nearly over, which means a return to our regularly scheduled program.

But since it's not quite over, this isn't much of a post. Really more of a list of things I've learned during my semi-break:

1. Blogging is a good outlet for me. If I had blogged about Rush Limbaugh, I probably wouldn't have had to rant about him to all my friends for the last four days. 

2. Despite my Mormon roots, there is just something about public prayer that makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Not the prayer itself, mind you, just the act of standing around and listening to it. I feel like Will Farrell in Talladega Nights -- I don't know what I should be doing with my hands.

And between us chickens, I've heard a lot of public prayer in the last month and a half.

3. I plan to do a little more with 28 than I did with 27.  When I turned 26, I was depressed. When I turned 27, I was more depressed. In fact, I spent probably the first six months of 27 wishing I was still 26 ... and now that I'm 28, 27 seems mighty young.

In an effort to not be right back where I'm sitting a year from now, I'm going to try to enjoy 28 from the get-go.

4. Internet dating. Still awful.

What's new with you friends?

Ru's talking about feminism. It's a Monday.

Once upon a time I wrote that a fundamental level, real feminists support the legal and social equality of men and women -- and this means supporting women who want the freedom to stay at home with their kids as well as the ones who want to work.  (Oh, SAHM v. all-other-kinds-of-moms ... will you all ever lay down your arms?)

Anyway, since I'm persnickety (don't you think it would be cuter if it were spelled "persnikity"?), I now have a caveat. Allow me to illustrate ...

Random lady: I know the feminists won't like it, but I love cooking.

Me: Um, feminists can like cooking.


Random lady: Oh, and I love babies. Don't tell the feminists!


Me: What are you talking about? To my knowledge, "the feminists," as you're calling them, have never taken a baby-hating position.

(etc. etc. etc.)

So here's the new caveat.

If you think you know what feminists think, and you're just delighted with yourself for screwing with us ("Squee! The feminists will hate this!"), then fine. I officially no longer give a crap about your legal or social equality. Kthxbye.

I loved The Shining. I must want to murder my future kids.

I saw an article today that tried to find some deeper meaning about the fact that Ann Romney (wife of Mitt Romney) had added Anna Karenina to her "favorite books" list on Pinterest.

Doesn't she know that Anna Karenina is about a wealthy woman who becomes dissatisfied with her privileged life, cheats on her political husband, and then meets a tragic end?

As a matter-of-fact, I suspect she does know that.

Don't you, dear writer, know that fictional works are fictional?

And that one can appreciate a piece of art without personally associating with it?

Or are you just absolutely terrible at satire?

(Just a question: when you think about the fact that you're a real journalist who now writes about the things a presidential candidate's wife pins online, do you die a little inside?)

here's a fun, fate-tempting time-waster

I'm not much of a blogger these days, amiright?  Two more weeks, friends, just two more weeks.

In the meantime, here's a fun link for ya: THE MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE CALCULATOR!

You know how the divorce rate is 50%?  Well, as you may know, that percentage is based on all marriages, and second, third, fourth, etc. marriages all have a higher probability of ending in divorce than first marriages.  Factors like age and education at the time of marriage also affect the probability of a marriage ending in divorce. 

So if you have ten minutes today, and you're feeling adventurous, put in your stats, your character's stats, your snotty friend from high school's stats, and find out your/their/her likelihood of getting slapped with the big D in the next five years. 

You're either going to feel really bad or really good about yourself.