Max Update

I don't want to brag, you guys, but Max might be the BEST. DOG. EVER. He's so good! Like, we don't even have to tell him to be good HE JUST IS. Which is good because he doesn't really understand words like sit or lie down or stay. He pretty much just stands there looking up at us and wagging his tail while we say "sit" over and over, holding a treat in one hand. But he's learning. Sloooooowly.

He loves going on walks, obviously, I mean what dog doesn't? We took him for a long walk last night and he trotted along in front of us, until he saw a bunny or a bird, then he would try to go make friends with them. At least that's what I'm assuming he was doing, such was his intensity. I'm sure that's it. Yes, definitely.

Phoebe is, well, Phoebe has made herself scarce the past couple of days but honestly that's all going much better than I'd anticipated. Max pretty much ignores her, something she hasn't really noticed, I don't think, because every time she sees him she acts like Max is trying to murder her. I mean, Max has spent most of his time like this:



And Phoebe has spent most of her time like this:



She is such a drama queen.

But yeah. They're ignoring each other, for the most part, which is far better than them trying to fight and fight and fight fight fight fight fight.

I think Max likes us and maybe even knows we're his people now. He wags his tail and starts hopping up and down when we approach him and will sometimes flop on his back so we can rub his tummy. And when I came out of the bathroom this morning, he was lying on the floor outside like he was waiting for me. I don't want to get all Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona but I LOVE HIM SOOO-OOO MUUUUCH.

It's only a day away.

You guys. OH, YOU GUYS. I was going to try and hold this in until tomorrow, because tomorrow is THE DAY, but I can't anymore. I just can't. I'M SO EXCITED. And not Jessie-Spano-caffeine-pill excited, but FOR REAL EXCITED with no stimulants involved whatsoever.

Because tomorrow, you guys, TOMORROW we pick up our dog. WE GOT A DOG. A real one! He wags his tail and everything!

A couple of weeks ago, Heidi found a sweet, little wiener dog on the side of the road. She texted me a picture and I was immediately all, "GIVE HIM TO ME," but she was responsible and took him to a couple of vets in the area to see if anyone recognized him. No one did, so she dropped him off at the Humane Society so they could put out word and see if anyone would claim him. They told her that if no one came in to get him, they'd call her and she'd get, like, first dibs on him or something.

My bridal shower was that weekend, and I asked about the dog almost as soon as I got there. No one had claimed him yet, and I told Heidi to let me know if no one ever did, because the whole thing was making my heart sad.

Fast forward to last Friday. Joe and I were out running errands before going to see Scott Pilgrim again (shut up), and Joe was all, "What ever happened to that wiener dog?" and I was like, "I don't know," and he was like, "TEXT HEIDI TEXT HEIDI," so I did and guess what? No one had claimed him or adopted him. And I was sad face again because POOR SWEET PUPPY.

Then, you guys, something magical happened. You see, Joe and I were waiting until after the wedding and honeymoon to adopt a dog because I didn't want to get a dog and then up and put him in a kennel or something while we were gone. Because it might get sad, you know? But Heidi is a much better person than I am, and when she offered to watch the wiener dog while we were on our honeymoon, there was nothing holding us back. This poor little dog needed a home, we had one, and so we decided that we'd go to the shelter the next day to meet him.

All Friday night long, we tried to reign in our excitement and remind each other that he wasn't our dog. "We might not even like him," we said (yeah right) and, "He might bite our faces off!" we exclaimed. Or WORSE YET, what if someone swooped in and adopted him right out from under our noses? Can you imagine that scene? I would have thrown a tantrum but not before bursting into tears right in front of everyone.

The shelter didn't open until 1 on Saturday and we were impatient, oh were we impatient. Well. Mostly me. I spent most of the morning shouting things like, "I WANT TO GO GET OUR DOG!" and then reminding myself that he wasn't ours. Yet.

Finally, FINALLY, it was time to meet him. We drove to the shelter (which is over an hour away, such was our love) and stood in the lobby for a bit when we got there. There were tiny boxer puppies in cages right next to us and barking dogs in a room next door. A lady in scrubs asked if we'd been helped, I said no, and then explained that we were there to see a dachshund that my friend had brought in.

She took us back to a small room and, when she opened the door, I saw four occupied crates. All but one dog started barking maniacally, that dog, our dog, was a black and tan wiener dog who just looked right at us and wagged his tail.

They'd given him the name "Freddie," because, even though he'd only been there a short time, they didn't want him to be just a number. We took him outside and he plodded along next to us, wagging his tail, only stopping to, well, pee on things. We took him back inside and found someone who worked there. I said something along the lines of, "Soooo, how do we make this happen?" and she explained the process. She asked if we were thinking about adopting him and I didn't tell her that when we'd gone outside, I told Joe we should just throw him in the car and go.

We talked for a good bit about his health and behavior, and how to introduce a dog to a cat (wish us luck on that one) and the whole time our soon-to-be dog just stood or sat there, looking around with interest. HE'S SO GOOD, I kept thinking, while I tried to pay attention to everything the lady was telling us, but I couldn't help but be distracted by his soft, floppy ears or his tail that curls up ever so slightly.

"I have good news and bad news," the lady told us. "The good news is, he's available for adoption. The bad news is, he's not getting fixed until Tuesday so you can't pick him up until after that." I wanted to cry.

We spent some more time with him and finally pried ourselves away, making plans to come back on Thursday (TOMORROW) to pick him up and take him home. We left, excited but a bit sad that we didn't have our dog with us, and immediately went to Petsmart to stock up on dog supplies. I'm pretty proud of us for being so frugal in the toy department. I wanted to buy EVERYTHING but we didn't because A) um, that would have been expensive and B) we don't even know what he LIKES yet, obviously.

We pick him up tomorrow after work and we are so ready. His crate is assembled. We've talked walking and eating schedules. We bought a baby gate in case Phoebe is less than welcoming. We both took Friday off so we could take him to the vet and hang out with him together. Joe wasn't going to, but he said he was afraid the dog would like me more if he wasn't home on his first day there.

We named him Max Fischer after much thought, passing over Captain Malcolm Reynolds and Charlie and Richard (get it?) because obviously if Max Fischer was a dog, he would totally be a wiener dog. I mean that in a good way, I swear.

We're so, so ready for tomorrow. I just hope Phoebe is nice to her new brother. You know. Eventually. Maybe?

heh, penal code

Joe and I applied for our marriage license on Friday. Since I am always extremely suspicious of authority figures and ALSO afraid they will question me about something innocuous that will end with me landing in jail, I made sure we were prepared. We had all of our documents, which turned out to be far fewer documents than I thought we'd need, and I knew what time we had to be there and how much everything cost (highway robbery, btw).

We had to go downtown, to the county courts building, which seemed easy enough because downtown Dayton? It's not that big. However. They are doing construction EVERYWHERE right now, so when we finally found the street we needed, it just ended. Like, BOOM, no more street. But it continued a bit farther up so we scooted around the block and found the street again AND THEN IT ENDED. AGAIN. At this point, I was struggling not to freak out because we had to be there by 4, it was 3:45, and we had to have time to park AND find the right office AND THE BUILDING IS HUGE AND OH MY GOD WHAT IF WE RAN OUT OF TIME AHHHHHH.

We finally found it, thanks to Google Maps, and I did not melt into a puddle of anxiety right there in the passenger seat, which I hear is hell on car upholstery. The Universe took pity on us and there was an open parking spot right across the street from the court house AND we had about ten minutes to find the right office, which turned out to be more difficult than anticipated because apparently neither of us can follow simple instructions.

We walked into the building and up to the metal detector because of course there's a metal detector. As soon as we walked in, the guard said, "second floor," and we were all, "huh," and he was all, "trust me, we can tell." Apparently we had The Look of soon-to-be-marrieds. The other guard waved us through and told us where to find the elevator, and then we walked right by the elevator because, as I said above, simple instructions, THEY ARE HARD, YOU GUYS.

We took the elevator to the second floor and found the right office with minutes to spare. They gave us one of those buzzy things that you get in restaurants that tell you when your table is available and pointed us to a waiting room. I busied myself with triple-checking all of the necessary documents I'd brought while Joe made jokes about penal codes or something I DON'T REMEMBER because I was too busy worrying about what would happen if they refused to give us a marriage license. I have no idea why I was worried about this. It's just what I do -- I worry.

"I hope it's our turn soon," I said and then the buzzy thing did its buzzy thing and we were up. We sat down across from the only person standing between us and marriage. Luckily, she was very nice.

"Marriage license?" she asked. We nodded. "I have to ask you a few questions, are you ready?"
BUT FIRST we had to raise our right hands and take an oath. We had to promise not to lie about anything important, so I couldn't like joke around and say my name was Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock, which is a shame because I really like to lead with a joke. Anyway, she asked if we were over 18 or if we'd been married before. She asked if we had picture ID and if we lived in the county. Then she asked if we had a social disease. In my head, I was all, "what, like being awkward at parties?" but it turns out she meant syphilis.

We gave her all of our information and $55, which is a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a piece of paper, yes? She did stamp it, though, with this big fancy stamping contraption, so maybe that's why it cost so much. And those little buzzy things they give waiting couples don't just pay for themselves, you know.

a question for the girls...about the girls

So I need a really, really supportive strapless bra to wear under my wedding dress. Well, strapless bra or like a bustier thingie. Bustier sounds so douchey. Anyway. HALP.

When I say I want it to be really supportive, I mean REALLY supportive. I'm trying to think of a tasteful way to say I have big boobs but I can't so SOOOOORRYYYYYY.

Also, bonus points if it's actually comfortable.

Thank you in advance. I am bad at being a girl.

the very definition of WTF

We got a wedding gift today. And it came in a giant bag. So, of course, then this happened:







Joe was sad that all six foot five of him would not fit in the bag, so Phoebe tried to console him:



It sort of looks like he's growing out of the floor, but I swear, he's not.

Some days I'm more afraid of zombies than others.

This is one of those days. I'm never sure what sets it off. It could be that I dreamt about zombies last night, but I don't really remember if I dreamt about zombies. I do remember that I was leading Bill Clinton through the first castle you have to beat in Zelda (Super Nintendo version), but I think that has something to do with seeing Scott Pilgrim. No idea why Bill Clinton was there. He does seem like he'd be fun to hang out with, so long as he keeps his hands to himself.

Sometimes zombie thoughts just pop into my head, zombie dreams or not. Not sure why. This morning, I was putting a signed form on the outside door so UPS would drop off my package (heh), and as I stood there, sticking the note to the door, I thought, "It's awfully quiet out here...this is the part of the zombie movie when a zombie would jump out from behind those bushes and bite my face off."

Then I heard a noise and ran back inside.

It's because mornings are so quiet, I think, that my imagination starts to run wild. Also, in a lot of zombie movies, morning is when SHIT GETS REAL. It's morning when Shaun (of the Dead) finds zombies in his backyard. In the new Dawn of the Dead, Anna Faris wakes up and there's a creepy child standing in their hallway, a creepy child who BITES HER HUSBAND'S NECK OFF. And then her husband turns into a zombie right in front of her and tries to eat her and she has to shimmy out the bathroom window and run to her car and luckily her car keys were on the nightstand so she can, you know, drive away but WHO REALLY DOES THAT? Who keeps their car keys in the bedroom? Do you guys? I guess I need to start keeping my car keys on the nightstand but we don't HAVE a window in the bathroom so if I get stuck in there, I'm screwed. There aren't even any good weapons in there.

The mornings when I don't see anyone outside are the worst. Usually, at some point, I'll see or hear a neighbor go out to their car or walk their dog and I think, "OK, there probably wasn't a zombie apocalypse last night." But if I don't see anyone? Then I just don't know. I think, what if all the neighbors are zombies now and they're just hiding in dark places until my brain gets close enough for them to eat it? WHAT THEN? CONSTANT VIGILANCE, that's the only answer.

This morning I didn't see anyone outside the whole time I was getting ready. So I knew that a zombie apocalypse was totally possible. Obviously. LOGIC. I was kind of terrified to go out to my car, now that it's in the garage. For a long time, our garage was full of random crap so there was no room for my car, but NO MORE. I had to walk down a long, creepy hallway to another hallway to the dark garage and as I reached through the door to hit the "open garage door" button so the light would come on, I imagined one of those rage zombies from 28 Days Later sprinting out from a dark corner and BITING MY HAND OFF and I'm not kidding, you guys, I might have whimpered a little.

It's seriously exhausting being in my head sometimes. Especially on zombie days.

You have a baby. In a BAR.

You guys, I have the Tigger song stuck in my head and I don't know why. It's driving me crazy because that might be the most annoying song ever, except for maybe the Barney song which was used as torture in The Men Who Stare at Goats FOR GOOD RAISIN.

Anyway. Last night, we went to an advanced screening of Scott Pilgrim because Joe got free tickets because OF COURSE HE DID. I don't want to spoil anything, but I will say I super enjoyed it times 10. I'm not sure what I would have thought if I hadn't read the books, but I feel like it would have still been enjoyable. There were plenty of lols and my only complaint is that the people behind us had obviously never even heard of Scott Pilgrim because they spent the majority of the movie saying things like, "wut...," "that doesn't make sense," and, "huuuuuuuuuuh?" and I hated them and wanted them to leave but they didn't because who passes up a free movie? Not those people. I really wanted to murder them in the face, you guys, but I didn't because I also really wanted to see the whole movie.

It was an incredibly well-cast movie, from Young Neil to Roxy Richter, although I wasn't too impressed with whatserface who played Ramona Flowers. I could look it up but I don't feel like it, so you do it. I think her name is Mary Something Something. Have fun, detectives.

This week seems really busy and I'm not sure why, other than I don't normally go to the movies on a Tuesday. I haven't worked out at all this week, but I have managed to not eat a bunch of junk food for every meal, so that's a win win (win). However, my bridal shower is this weekend and all bets are off because there will be snacks. And drinks. Because my bridal shower is IN A BAR. THAT'S RIGHT. Wishes really do come true.

my eyes, MY EYES

I went to the eye doctor this morning, which I don't really mind, because the eye doctor is my favorite of all of the doctors. Eye appointments are the only medical appointments that I can go to and not feel like I've been molested in some way afterward. I mean, at the dentist, they poke at your tender, pink gums with sharp, metal objects and at the gyno they...well, let's just say it's similar to the dentist but they poke you in a different part of the body. And WHO KNOWS what might happen to you at the regular doctor. First they get you in that paper gown and then you are at their mercy.

So anyway, the eye doctor. The only thing I hate about going to the eye doctor is that there's a test. And as a former overachiever, who had to NOT ONLY get the best grade in the class but also finish her test before anyone else, I find this stressful. A or B? One or two? Is the first one better, or the last one? I DON'T KNOW LEAVE ME ALONE. Sometimes I think the doctor is totally messing with me, too. Like, she'll flip between two different lenses and be like, "is the first one better or the second?" and THEY ARE TOTALLY THE SAME. And then she'll make some comment like, "I bet the last one is pretty blurry," and I think, "OMG I FAIL I FAIL I NEED TO START OVER," and then I freak out and start Hulk-smashing all of the equipment and they ask me to put my credit card on the counter and back slowly out of the building.

Just kidding, that only happened once.

I decided to go to the eye doctor, even though I was pretty sure my prescription hadn't changed, so I could get contacts for the wedding. I've had contacts in the past, but the last time they ran out I just...didn't go get more. I figured I'd get them soon and that was, um, two or three years ago. OOPS. My eyesight is not that bad, so I really only wear my glasses at the movies, while driving, and sometimes while watching TV. However. I do not want to wear my glasses all day for the wedding, because eventually I get sick of them and want to rip them off of my face and stomp on them. And if I don't wear them, well, everything will be sort of pleasantly fuzzy but I figured I might want to be able to see Joe's face from the other end of the aisle so CONTACTS IT IS.

Remember that show The Pretender? I loved that show. Good story, Jennie, tell it again.

Sometimes I wish I could time travel just to go back in time and punch Past!Jennie in the face.

Three Hole Punch Steve got married this weekend. The ceremony was at Wittenberg, as both the bride and groom went to Witt, and many college friends descended upon the campus. As we were waiting for the ceremony to start, I was struck by this weird thought or feeling or...I don't know, but it is WEIRD to see us all coupling off and getting married. We who used to streak the hollow. We who once snuck into the sorority house snack closet through a window above the locked door just to get ramen noodles. We who scaled a fence to go swimming at 4 AM. We who once (twice!) walked to Lake Michigan from Mary's apartment with a case of beer to watch the sunrise, chase joggers through the park, go to IHOP, then sleep a couple of hours and go out and do it all over again. How are those people ALLOWED to get married? I still feel like I'm pretending to be an adult most of the time. Does that ever go away?

Anyway, what that all means is I didn't do a very good job at pretending I'm an adult on Saturday. I mean, I acted like an adult because you have to be an adult to buy alcohol but I didn't act like a RESPONSIBLE adult. Which is fine. Being responsible all the time is highly overrated. Except, not really. Who wants to be responsible all the time? If I was responsible all the time, then I wouldn't be able to watch three episodes of Veronica Mars in one evening or eat a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast or, I don't know, have any fun ever.

It was a fun wedding, although I'm pretty sure we were seated in the troublemaker section. That's OK, it just proves that Steve A) knows us well and is B) smart. For instance. There were bottles of wine on all of the tables that I guess were meant to use for the toasts, only we drank ours right away and there was only a tiny bit left for toast time. Oops. I don't know what else to say about the reception, other than the food was yummy and there was dancing and laughing and GENERAL MERRIMENT and I now have a picture of Joe and Steve slow dancing.

I also have a picture of like, the million beers we all drank, which made getting up early on Sunday SUPER FUN. That always sucks because for one thing, you feel like arse and for ANOTHER thing, you have no one but yourself to blame. Except I sort of blame Miguel on account of any time anyone has less than a half a cup of beer, he was all, "YOU NEED A REFILL!" If that doesn't sound like a recipe for disaster, I don't know what does.