Quick Update

Hey, people.

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been busy lately and trying to get my life back to normal. It's been a bit of a challenge, but I've been managing to keep up with most stuff. Let's see... in the past month I:

Got initiated into a professional co-ed fraternity, Alpha Chi Sigma,
Got a new dog,
Started hanging out with a guy with whom I can make fun of Canadians and manic pixie dream girls,
Possibly developed ADD,
Bought condoms for the first time and made condom water balloons,
Got a non-monetary award for being awesome at work,
Flipped off my chemistry professor, who didn't seem to actually care,
Played with a baby piggy and a lamb,
Failed my first exam ever,
Turned 19 years old,
Got addicted to Angry Birds, but got over said addiction,
Received a very strange, nonsensical fortune in my fortune cookie,
And... I think that's just about it.

I don't have much time to write any more because I have a huge chemistry essay due on Thursday that I barely started, along with my oral final exam (which sounds way too dirty to exist) to prepare for. Here are some pictures of some of the above events:

Dudley, my new doggie :]

So... that's what my life has become lately. I will try to post again next weekend. I hope it happens, but I'm not sure of my schedule, so I'm not so sure. You know, finals and stuff like that.

Rest In Peace, My Love

On Saturday, March 10, 2012, I lost my dog, Quigley. He was a 6-year-old dachshund/lab mix. When he was a puppy, he was abandoned. He and his 8 brothers and sisters were rescued and brought to a shelter. Nobody adopted them for whatever reason, and they were to be put down the next day. A woman from a dog rescue stepped up and volunteered to foster all of them. At the same time, my guinea  pig, Paprika, was dying from some sort of cancer that caused him to bloat and made him unable to use his back legs. I had spent that entire summer force-feeding Paprika around the clock every 3 hours. He ended up dying in August of 2005, around the same time Quigley was born. My family was mourning the loss of our 6-year-old piggy when my mom told a 12-year-old me that she wanted to get a puppy. We looked at pet adoption sites and decided on a puppy named Peanut.

School had started, and I came home crying from a generally bad day. I looked at Peanut's page online to find that he had been adopted. My mom told me that she had found the most adorable puppy in the world up for adoption on petfinder.com. I saw his picture and immediately knew that he was the one for us.

My mom and I had not told my dad that we were looking at puppies, but my mom took my brother and me to see him in October at Petsmart. We filled out an application for adoption, and were told to expect an email later that week. The next day, Sunday, my mom received an email from the foster mom telling us what supplies we would need for him, what kind of food he ate, and something I will never forget, "I will bring him on Thursday. Expect the pup to stay."

I'm not sure when my mom told my dad that we were adopting a puppy, but he didn't resist too much when we showed him the picture. Quigley's foster-mom showed up on Thursday afternoon, with my new puppy slung under one arm. She walked carefully up our steep, crooked driveway, and knocked on our door with her free hand. My mom made me sit still in the living room while she answered the door. The foster-mom set Quigley on the floor when she entered our living room, and he immediately ran to the floor-to-ceiling mirror and started jumping on it. When he realized that it wasn't another puppy, he looked at me with his huge amber eyes and his brow furrowed, like I was some sort of magician.

As the email said, the pup stayed. Training him was very easy. He had only one accident in the house as a puppy. He went through obedience training 3 times, and he graduated with high honors each time. Our walks went from him dragging me around to him walking neatly at my side.

Quigley grew up and turned into a very intelligent, but strange dog. He was far from perfect, but everyone he met loved him (if he didn't try to bite them). He could be temperamental sometimes, especially when someone tried to get too close to our house. My dog was really quirky. He didn't jump on any furniture except for the futon on our back porch or any of his own beds, including the beanbag chair that he stole from me when he was a puppy. He had personality for sure.

 

 

Doing his sexy pose

How he spent every summer

His favorite Halloween costume

Mid-bark snapshot after I told him how cute he is

One day he stepped on a piece of glass and cut his paw. He had to get  a little shard cut out from the webbing between his toes. We had to put a cone on his head so he wouldn't lick at the bandaging. Every dog absolutely hates the cone, and of course he tried to get it off at first. However, once he realized that he got attention if he wore it, he hated when we took it off. He wore it for several days, and seemed depressed when we had to take it off.

This past January, it seemed that Quigley had a bulging disc in his neck. The X-ray and blood work was inconclusive, though. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, so we put him on steroids and painkillers. He slowly started to decline. I came home from school in early February to find him lethargic, but still my same old Quigley. He still enjoyed his daily walks and ate more than he should have. I went back to school, confident that he would bounce back from whatever this was.

I was wrong.

I came home for spring break. My father had warned me that he was very sick and to expect the worst while we were in the car when he picked me up. We arrived at my house, and I opened the door to see that my dog was no longer my dog. He had lost about 10 pounds, and he could no longer use his front right paw due to a pinched nerve. He needed help using the stairs to go outside, and he didn't move more than necessary.


I spent as much time with him as humanly possible. He had good days and bad days.

At the beginning of last week, his belly started bloating severely. I had come home just in time to see the worst in him, and I knew it was almost the end.

Thursday, March 8, 2012:

I talked to our vet while I was at work. He said that it was hard to tell, but due to the bloating, he thought it might be cancer. I guess we'll never find out.

Friday, March 9, 2012:

In the morning, Quigley seemed to be doing very well. His bloating wasn't as bad as it had been, and he was having a good day. I got home from work around 6pm. He had been lying in his beanbag chair. I asked him if he had to go outside, and he just sat there whimpering. Eventually he pulled himself to his feet with his 3 good paws. I led him to the door and helped him outside. He was having trouble standing by himself. He fell over while peeing. His belly looked horribly distended and visibly bloated. I helped him inside and he laid down in his beanbag chair. He whimpered all night long.

Saturday, March 10, 2012:

I woke up early to see how my puppy was. He was in his beanbag chair, whining, panting, and shaking miserably. He had not stood up yet. Suddenly, he struggled to his feet and hobbled into the kitchen toward the side door. He let his bowels loose all over the floor, the second accident he had ever had in his life.

I cleaned up the kitchen and went to sit with my puppy in the living room. My dad called the vet and asked him to come to our house that day as soon as possible. He couldn't make it until 2, but he said that I could come pick up a sedative to make Quigley more comfortable. I was completely numb. I drove out there and took the pill bottle, receiving hugs from everyone. I drove back and gave him his pills. It was 11 am. Quigley spent the rest of his life heavily sedated with me at his side.

The last picture ever taken of Quigley on February 4, 2012

At 1:30, my friend, Danny, who is a vet tech at the clinic where I work called my cell phone. He said that he and my best friend, Rachel, with whom I have worked for 3 years could come over now. I told them to come over.

They pulled up in our driveway. Danny carried a black medical bag and Rachel had a blanket.

When Quig was gone, they wrapped him in the blanket. Danny handed the bag to Rachel and lifted Quigley off the floor. He walked carefully down our steep, crooked driveway, and carefully placed my puppy into the back seat of his car. That was the last time I saw my puppy.

All I want to say is rest in peace, my love. I miss you horribly, and I don't know what I will do without you.

The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back

I'm having a horrible day. I'm not going to get into it (it's kind of personal), but let's just say it's not because it's raining. I decided to write a poem for the first time in a long time. I know it's not good, but I wrote it in like 5 minutes. I'm sorry it's not going to be a very entertaining post this weekend.

Here's my poem:

The straw that broke the camel’s back

Isn’t so much as a straw

As an anvil from an old cartoon.

You’re trying to solve your current predicament

When out of nowhere it just… hits you.

You don’t expect it.

You couldn't predict it.

It just sort of happens

And you can’t prevent it.

The straw that broke the camel’s back

It was coming for a long time

But you ignored the signs.

You ignored the shadow that grew bigger around you

And chose to not hear the warnings.

You tried to sidestep it,

But it followed your steps

Like a sick dance

That led to your breakdown.

The straw that broke the camel’s back

Took you by surprise.

But you have to get over it.

Don’t let it affect you.

Just

Become

Numb

And forget about the anvil

That took your breath

And broke your back.

Terrible Work Day Rant

Sorry, you're not getting a normal blog post today. I have about 1,039,434,394,001,773.591 hours of homework to get done in the next day and a half, and I'm on the brink of blowing my own head off.

I had to work today in the cafeteria serving food for 5 hours. That's pretty bad, but it's worse than it sounds. I was working with three other girls, two of which are from China and can barely speak English. The other girl who is not Chinese just barely gave a fuck about working, and preferred to spend much of her time chatting with the chefs. Her job was to restock the food we were serving. At first, she did her job just fine, but after a few hours, she just kind of... stopped. On top of it, the Chinese girls were stumbling around, unable to understand a word of peoples' orders. Even worse, they moved so slowly I thought I was going to die. You are supposed to get the food on the plate, not having it touch other food stuff, and doing so quickly so you can help the next person in line. She was slowly scooping the tater tots one-by-one and trying to grasp a sausage patty with the tongs, but dropping it. It took all of my strength not to shove her out the my goddamn way and serve the stupid, hungover douche bag who shifted from foot to foot impatiently. I'm not going to go into detail about the many times everyone pissed me off today, but let's just say that it went on constantly for 5 hours. (No, I'm not PMSing. Shut up.)

Anyway, I will hopefully be posting something less rant-y and more like a story next weekend. I'm not sure how that will work out because I'll be on spring break (WOO!) and won't have much time, but expect something on Sunday rather than Saturday.

Peace out, my bitches.

Just Call Me Daredevil, Part 2

Well, the whole cinnamon challenge/ghost pepper thing happened on Saturday. Sorry I couldn't post it sooner. Technical difficulties. Also, I apologize for my voice. I hate it. Anyway, the cinnamon challenge was uneventful and actually not as bad as I had expected. I did spit the cinnamon out, but it was only because I was laughing and I didn't want to be the only one to do it when my friend had already spit it out. Actually, I'll just let you watch this video. Sorry it's sideways, but my friend didn't know how to work the phone...

Yep. That was lovely. However, the ghost pepper challenge was way more eventful. I read the warning label that eating these peppers can cause heart palpitations and breathing problems, but I decided to ignore this. Also, it said that you should handle these peppers with gloves on. So... these peppers are SPICY. I don't really know what I had expected, but it was much, much worse. I took a bite about the size of a quarter and chewed it for a few seconds because if you eat it quickly, it will burn the back of your throat and seriously mess up your stomach. At first, it didn't hurt at all. It just kind of tasted bad. I decided that it would be okay to eat the rest of the pepper I started. However, that ended up impossible. As soon as I opened my mouth for the rest of the pepper, it felt like someone had poured gasoline into my mouth and threw in a lit match. I have eaten habanero peppers before. I have tried Dave's Insanity Sauce, which is a hot sauce so hot that one drop of it into a pot of chili would burn your mouth. This was like nothing I've ever even imagined.

Although the video only shows my reaction for a few minutes, the burning lasted more than 45 minutes, and I had to chug 2 and 1/2 bottles of water to stop the burning. The heat made my eyes water and my entire body started sweating despite the fact that I was in a tank top in 25 degree weather. Also, I'd like to apologize for the fact that my shirt was kind of coming off. I have a pretty good excuse, though! I felt like I was in a sauna, but my gums were swelling and burning. My entire mouth was throbbing. After about 30 minutes, I became accustomed to the burning, but it still hurt a bit. I blew on my hand like how you blow out a candle, and the air was HOT.

Basically, this was probably the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. I still have a large baggie of peppers, though, so I guess the next time I go home, I'm making a very spicy vegetarian chili. Also, I'm doing it again this coming weekend, but this time I'm eating a whole pepper because I just can't learn consequences.

Just Call Me Daredevil, Part 1

Ahh truth or dare... probably one of the most well-known games for slumber parties or boring classes besides the "penis" game. (You see who can shout "penis" the loudest in a crowded room. Yep, I'm mature.) If you know me very well, you probably already know that I'm a boss at both of these games.

"I win again!" "Uhh, Katie, we're running a marathon, not playing that stupid game." "Oh... That explains a lot."

Also, if you've ever played truth or dare against me, you know that I have (almost) never backed down from a dare. I have talked dirty to a tea kettle, peed outside in the snow, eaten dog food (while being videotaped), and many other things that I don't care to repeat. What happens in slumber parties stays in slumber parties. Also, ovaries before brovaries. Just saying.

Recently, my friend and I were eating at Chipotle when I asked the guy behind the counter that I wanted a disturbing amount of their spiciest salsa on my burrito. I then whipped a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos out of my backpack and ate them and the burrito without having to drink any water. I absolutely love spicy food, and I am able to tolerate it really well. My friend told me that a nearby grocery store sells Naga Jolokia, or ghost peppers, which are the spiciest peppers in the world. For reference, they can be up to 100 times hotter than a Habanero pepper at a whopping 1.04 MILLION Scoville Heat Units. It is enough to make a grown man cry and not be ashamed to do so. I just watched a video of some guy eating one and his face is dripping with sweat, begging his friend, who is taping, for a glass of milk. Anyway, my friend told me that she would buy me some for an early birthday present if she was around to watch me eat one. I told her that hell no, I would not eat one, but then she said, "I dare you."

The pepper also dared me. How can I say no to something like this?

Obviously, I can't turn down a dare, so I have to do this. Of course, my friend will be videotaping it the whole time, and assuming I don't have to be run to the emergency room, I will post the video here within the next few days.

Also, she dared me to do the cinnamon challenge with her. If you don't know what that is because you've been living under a rock for the last few years, it's when you try to eat a tablespoon of ground cinnamon. Look it up on youtube. It's everywhere. It goes the same every time: The person slowly measures the cinnamon, trying to stall. Then, they stuff the spoon into their mouth before they can regret their decision. After a few seconds of trying to swallow the cinnamon, they cough it out into a huge reddish-brown cloud of horror and they run for water like they're going to die. I don't doubt that it will end this way, but I think it would be a fun regrettable decision. Once again, it will be filmed and I will post it here in the next few days. I'm tempted to not do the two challenges in one day, but it's really the only time I have to do this stuff. Maybe I won't do them one after the other, and I'll hold off on one of them. I assume I'll be doing the cinnamon challenge tomorrow, though.

Needless to say, I'm scared shitless and I will probably bring as many water bottles as I can carry.

Wish me luck!

10 Weird Things That Drive Me Crazy

Obviously everyone has their pet peeves and little annoyances that drive them crazy. Sometimes these things are completely inexplicable, but some can be explained. Some can be explained, but these explanations can make you look completely insane. I have a lot of the last ones. I'm going to try to explain these everyday annoyances that piss me off as best as I possibly can without sounding completely neurotic.

#10: When people see me drawing and ask me if I drew that...


This happens way more than you could even expect. I will be in class or in the study lounge drawing someone or something. I'll have a reference, a pencil, a pad of paper, and a half-finished drawing. Inevitably, a random person will come up to my table and ask me, "Wow! Did you draw that?" I suppress my automatic urge to go full-on sarcastic and tell them that yes, I did actually draw it. Now leave me alone before I stab you in the eye with my pencil. I understand that this person just wants to compliment me or start up a conversation, but let's get real. I'm not exactly a social butterfly, especially around strangers. In order to avoid such interactions, I only work on my artwork in my room when I'm alone or I just don't draw. I don't really have the time to draw anyway. I could just get over it, but I know that I probably never will.

#9: When the TV volume isn't on a number divisible by 5...

My family knows all about this one. My dad likes the volume on a prime number, which he knows makes me crazy. This is how it always goes. We are sitting on the couch, watching Top Chef or something, when he decides to turn up the volume. He puts it at 37 or something. I try my hardest not to say something, but then I can't really help it. Eventually, it drives me to madness. I reach over him and grab the remote from the arm of the couch and put it up to 40 or down to 35. My dad tries to grab the remote out of my hands and changes it back. I slap his wrist before he can and I move the remote out of his reach. He tries to reach it anyway. This goes on for a while, so we end up missing the show, and he usually ends up with my teeth or fingernail marks in his forearm because I'm a horrible, dirty fighter. In this case, I usually get my way, but it is always really awkward whenever I go to a friend's house. When I go to a friend's house, I let the host do whatever they want because it's their TV, but I squirm in my seat throughout the movie.

#8: When people talk to me in the car...

I'm going to start out by saying this: I don't find "awkward" silences awkward. I am perfectly comfortable sitting in silence with or without someone. I don't feel the need to fill every silence with meaningless small talk. Let me further extend this: I sometimes just don't want to talk at all. I might not be in the mood. Everyone can be like this. However, for me, it is only in certain situations that I don't want to talk to people. For example, I hate talking in the car as a passenger. I am perfectly comfortable talking when I am driving, and I know that I won't get distracted. I just can't talk as a passenger, especially on long drives or with people I see frequently. It's weird, but if someone can't look at me when I'm talking, I feel really uncomfortable and I clam up. To get around people talking to me in the car, I try to turn up the music, but sometimes this just makes people talk to me even louder, which irritates me even more. I don't mean to be rude, but it just sort of plays out like that.

#7: Issues with grammar...

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not afraid to correct someone when they misspeak. When people say "good" instead of "well" or "who" instead of "whom" I think I might lose my mind. It's more than just that, though. When people mix up "then" and "than" or "of" and "have" (should of instead of should have), I want to shoot myself. That's all I'm going to say so I don't write a 10,000 word rant about how the English language is slowly being ruined.

#6: When the door is unlocked...

I grew up in Suburbia. However, the Suburbia I grew up in borders Detroit, which is famous for its crime rate and its shittiness. Honestly, though, it really pisses me of when someone criticizes Detroit when they've never been there. I have Detroit pride in my blood and guts. I'm not going to be unrealistic, though. You will never see me alone in the city because it (sadly) does have a very high crime rate, and I'm small and couldn't realistically take on a grown man if he is trying to get me into his creepy white van. Growing up in the area has made me disturbingly paranoid. When people are home alone, they tend to lock the door because it is just common sense. I not only make sure that the doors and windows are shut and locked when I'm home alone, though. I make sure all of the doors are locked even when my entire family is home. The windows are okay to be open in certain rooms, but only on the second floor. Paranoia pays off, though. Evolutionarily speaking, the paranoid creatures tend to survive. That rustle in the bushes could either be the wind or it could be a predator. If it is a predator and you assume it's the wind, you're screwed, and you've just taught everyone around you that it is preferable to be skeptical.

#5: When people lecture others about their lifestyles...

People are stupid. They do what they want without considering the consequences. Everyone does it. For example, I am addicted to caffeine. I mean addicted. If I don't get my coffee in the morning, I will start going through withdrawal and get the most intense headache of my life. No, I am not going to quit taking caffeine despite the fact that I probably should. That's my problem. Guess what, though? I'm not breaking any laws. I don't drink or do any drugs (besides caffeine), nor do I smoke (which is not illegal, obviously). It could be much worse than caffeine. It drives me crazy, though, when someone who actually does worse things than me decide that judging my lifestyle is just fine. For example, I know someone (underage) who goes to a ton of parties and gets drunk at least once per week, sometimes much more. I had a ton of homework to do that night, so I bought myself a bottle of caffeine pills and took one to stay awake. This girl asked me what I was taking and then said, "That is so bad for you. You really shouldn't do that." I wanted to say, "At least I'm not getting drunk, doing stupid shit, and forgetting about said stupid shit. I'm doing this so I can be productive and get stuff done. Get over yourself, Princess." Instead, I ignored her and got my homework done. I don't lecture people I know about their drinking habits. My idea should be reciprocated and I shouldn't be lectured about my completely legal caffeine addiction.

#4: When people get what they deserve and then bitch about it...

I'm not talking about people who work hard and then get rich and complain about how they don't have enough money. That is really irritating. I'm talking about people who do something idiotic, are presented with consequences, and then don't face their problems or expect sympathy. If someone goes out and gets shit-faced drunk, loses their phone, credit cards, etc. then I don't feel bad for them. Maybe initially, but if it happens more than once, I say that if you're looking for sympathy, you'll find it in the dictionary between shit and syphilis. I think that it is clear that if you do something dumb, it's going to bite you in the ass. If you get an ass-bite, don't bitch at me about it because I won't feel bad. I'll just think you're retarded.

#3: When someone talks to me when I have my headphones on...

I listen to music to drown out the world. It gets rid of distractions and helps me think more clearly. However, if someone is going to talk to me, I don't want to be rude and ignore them. This comes at the expense of my own irritation. I have to go back and forth, pausing my music, asking them to repeat themselves. This irritates the other person. I don't get it. When I see someone with their headphones in, I understand that they want to listen to their music. I don't listen to music just because there's nothing better to do. I listen because I want to. Isn't it obvious that I'm busy and I don't feel like talking, especially when I give one-word answers?

#2: A three-in-one package about personal space...

Have you ever gone into a restaurant and seen that nauseating couple that sits together on the same side of the booth, stroking each others' hair like monkeys? Yeah, that is number 2A in the list. It drives me nuts when there is plenty of space on the other side of the table so they can sit across from each other, yet they decide that they will show the world that they are a couple by the gratuitous amounts of PDA.

For 2B, I hate sitting next to someone at the table when they could be across from me. I try to sit down after the other person so I can choose how we are positioned at the table because it is rude to change where you are seated when you're already sitting. I like to see a person's face when I'm talking to them. I hate having to turn to see them face-to-face and having them so close to me...

Which brings me to 2C. I hate having to sit next to someone too closely. My lecture classes drive me nuts because we have to sit crammed together in these tiny chairs so that our thighs and asses are practically touching. When I am sitting next to someone, I can't have my legs touching theirs or I will absolutely freak out.

#1: And yep, it's also about personal space, but in a crazier way...

I like a lot of personal space. I don't have a problem with hugging or anything like that. This involves my hands. I can't stand it when people touch my hands. A lot of people like hand-holding, but I seriously hate it. When someone tries to hold my hand, I want to break theirs. When I had a boyfriend like a million years ago, he used to try to hold my hand. I endured it, but it drove me absolutely insane. After about 2 long minutes, I would pull mine away and maybe put my arm around his back and move so his arm was around my shoulders. Looking back, I probably should have said something, but he was my first boyfriend and I didn't want to seem like a crazy person. It isn't a germophobia thing or anything like that. It wasn't just him trying to hold my hand. I hate it when cashiers accidentally touch my hand when giving me my change. I hate it when someone brushes my hand with theirs when we are walking together. I hate it when my hand touches another person's hand in any way, shape, or form. I don't know why, and I don't think I ever will.

Wow. After writing all of that, I think that I should probably order myself a special jacket and go check myself into a mental institution. If you're reading this, please tell me in the comments either that one of these things drives you crazy or tell me one of your weird pet peeves. When I say "weird pet peeves" I mean the weirdest thing that irritates you the most.