if my brain could throw up, this is what it would look like

Did you know that you can only listen to 40 hours of Pandora a month? I didn't. Until I apparently reached my limit, which I did today. I thought at first that 40 hours was really impressive but I don't think it is. I have Pandora on most of the time at work, so that's an easy 40 hours right there. In a week, even.

At first I was really worried because WHAT WOULD I DO FOR MUSIC? I found out that we can hear the music from shows in our offices during rehearsals and showtime but there aren't any shows right now. And I always forget my iPod at home, or if I do remember it, it's not charged and don't ask me where my charger is because I DON'T KNOW I DON'T EVER KNOW. But whatever, don't worry (I know you were worried), I paid 99 cents and now I can listen to Pandora for the rest of the month and my limit starts over in September. Can you imagine, though? No music at work? To miss out on the joy that is Part of Your World popping up after, like, Radiohead or something? No thank you.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Who knows. How many times have I typed "what am I talking about?" on my blog might be a better question only probably not really because the answer is DUH A LOT. Guess what we did last night? Guess. I SAID GUESS. No, but seriously, folks, we put an offer on a house last night. I wasn't going to say anything because I was afraid of jinxing it but we didn't say anything LAST time we put an offer on a house and we still didn't get it so I am throwing caution to the wind. Here, wind! Take it! Take all the caution! I don't even want it anyway!

So, yeah, we met our realtor after work to sign all the paperwork and did you know putting on offer on a house is kind of a big deal? Because I guess it is. There's a contract and you have to hand over a check and everything. I signed my name a bunch of times and didn't even hyperventilate once! That will happen when and if we end up getting the house and I then realize we just bought this giant thing where millions of things could go wrong and we won't have a landlord to call anymore. OMG WHAT HAVE WE DONE.

No, seriously, it's fine. It'll be really nice if we get it because there's a giant backyard, all for Max, which is great because he refuses to use the litter box, unless he's sneaking into it to steal cat poop. We mentioned the cat-poop-thievery to the vet when she suggested putting Max on a diet (he's packed on a few pounds...don't mention it to him, he's sensitive) and I was all, "I think he's hungry because he got in the litter box the other day and hardly ever does that," and she was like, "Oh, yeah, he's not hungry, he's just stealing Kitty Cookies, lol. Cat poop is like dessert to dogs." It was an informative visit, is what I'm saying.

Anyway, there was an earthquake today, too, so that's weird. I mean, it wasn't IN Ohio but I certainly felt it in Ohio. We don't usually get earthquakes here but this one time when I was in 3rd grade they were worried about some giant earthquake that was supposed to hit (I don't know the details because I was 9, but it probably had something to do with the Hellmouth being in Cleveland) BUT ANYWAY we had to have earthquake drills and that consisted of sitting under our desks, which doesn't really seem that safe but whatever, I don't know about surviving an earthquake, only about surviving tornadoes and MORE IMPORTANTLY zombies. Did you know this entire paragraph was only two sentences? Well, three now. Four. Five. Shit.

You guys, WHAT is this post even about? You know what the problem is? I started it yesterday morning and now it is today evening and guess what I don't even care, I'm posting it anyway, non-sensicalness and all. For what is life without a little non-sensicalness? Besides more sensical and stuff. But who wants that? I can't decide how to end this but I need to go watch some Mad Men reruns until it's time to go to bed so BYE.

Mr. Darcy is the hit of my pants*

I woke up early this morning to Max crawling ACROSS JOE'S FACE so he could hide his face between our pillows. Normally these kinds of shenanigans would get Max kicked off the bed POST HASTE but it was thunderstorming and he was scared and COME ON, how could I possibly force him off the bed when his sad little scared face was trembling nose-to-nose with mine. Joe and I tried to go back to sleep, but it didn't really work because Joe was pretty much forced to the very edge of the bed and the only way I could make myself comfortable was to spoon Max but he kept hitting me in the chin with his head whenever there was thunder and OW.

So my point is, I'm tired today. I mean, I had already stayed up past my bedtime because I wanted to watch Mr. Darcy win an Oscar, so I wasn't planning on waking up an hour and a half earlier than my alarm. YAWN.

In other news, I got this love letter the other day:

Dear Beloved,

This letter may come to you as a surprise due to the fact that we have not yet met. Firstly, I have to say that I have no intentions of causing you any pain. My name is Mr. Moore Edwards, a European merchant. I have been diagnosed with Prostate and Esophageal cancer that was discovered very late due to lack of caring for my health. It has defiled all form of medicine and right now, I have only about a few months to live according to medical experts. I have not particularly lived my life so well, as I never really cared for anyone not even myself but my business.Though I am very rich, I was never generous, I was always hostile to people and only focus on my business as that was the only thing I cared for. But now I regret all this as I now know that there is more to life than just wanting to have or make all the money in the world. I use to say to my self that if God should give me a second chance I would live differently from how I have lived. I was meditating on my hospital bed and something told me that Go

Hence, I do not trust them anymore, as they seem not to be content with what I have left for them.The last of my money which is a huge cash deposit that I have with a security firm will be put in your care if only you will agree and are capable of seeing this through. I want you to help me collect this deposit and dispatched it to charity organizations of your choice and let them know that it is I Mr.Moore Edwards that is making this generous donation. I am writing this from my laptop computer in my hospital bed where I wait for my time to come. I pray for you to support and assist me with a good heart. I hope we can build a relationship based on trust because I want to do this by all means possible before I die.But the choice is yours Please you can contact me through this email address: mooreedwards1@aol.co.uk

Be blessed my beloved,
Mr.Moore Edwards

For some reason, it was delivered to my spam folder. Which is weird because why would my beloved send me spam? In any case, feel free to email him. It sounds like he could use a pick-me-up.

*When my friend Amy and I were but wee little college freshman, we read Bridget Jones's Dairy and Pride & Prejudice, like, a million times, and then saw BJD in the theater, like, a million times, and went on an epic journey to, like, a million stores just to find the P&P mini-series that made Colin Firth such an object of DEEP, DEEP DESIRE. To say we were merely obsessed with Mr. Darcy is an insult to our level of obsession.

Anyway, one night, after drinking too much, we sent emails to practically everyone we knew (drunk emailing is way more entertaining than drunk dialing, trust me) and in one email, we said both "Mr. Darcy is a hearthrap," and "Mr. Darcy is the hit of my pants." Thank you, Stephanie, for reminding me of this. GOOD TIMES.

You can't say you're breezy, that totally negates the breezy!

DUDES. You guys. It's September. That means I am getting married this month, which makes me happier than Heather Anne Hogan with a hoverboard, if that's possible, and I'm not sure it is.

(Speaking of Heather Anne Hogan, she's blogging again. I know. I KNOW. I peed my pants, too.)

So, anyway, it's September 1st, which means I'm getting married in 17 days, which is AWESOME because it means I can stop talking and thinking about wedding stuff soon. HELL YES. Soon I will be able to concentrate on more important things, like Max. And Joe, I suppose. Heh.

This morning as I flipped the calendar to September, I asked Joe at what point I was supposed to start getting really stressed.

"Now?" he said and I laughed because, you guys, I'M TOTALLY BREEZY. I mean, I'm excited, of course, but I cannot think of one detail that I'm really worried about because you know what? It's out of my hands. I can't control the weather. I can't control the airlines. I'm not worried about whether the napkins perfectly match the...whatever, I don't even know what they need to match. I'm not worried about the flowers or the centerpieces or whether the church looks perfect or even whether I look perfect. SUCK IT, WEDDING INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX.

Sure, there are some things I can control, but I'm not worried about them. My dress is fine, my hair appointment is booked, and all of our stuff is gathered. Stuff like board games and magnetized Scrabble tiles and fake mustaches and GUESS WHAT BITCHES? We have all of it. I don't want to brag, but we are so ready. I'm sure that will come back and bite me in the ass at some point, but I don't care. TAKE A BIG BITE, UNIVERSE, because in three weeks I will be somewhere tropical, sipping a cocktail, and laughing with MY HUSBAND JOE over a poop joke one of us made.

Last night, I started half-assing the placecards because if there's anything to half-ass, it's the placecards. We bought some at Target and I'm writing all the names because, I don't know, I like handwriting stuff? Does that make sense? Sometimes I miss being in school because I don't get to take notes much anymore (not even in meetings because nothing important ever happens in meetings where I work) and I LOVE taking notes. I should start handwriting my first drafts of everything but that sounds like a lot of work so I probably won't do it.

Anyway, let's talk about more interesting things LIKE MAX. He's still being SO GOOD even though he really doesn't like going in his cage. But that could be because we have to put this inflatable donut thing around his neck so he doesn't lick his ball-removal stitches all day long while we're not home. I'm sure he'll get over it. Right? Please say yes.

He and Phoebe are still getting along, if you can call it that. She is a tiny bit braver around him, meaning she waits 10 seconds to run away from him instead of 5 seconds, and he still just walks right by her without noticing her. Maybe he is cat blind. Or maybe Phoebe knows how to invisible herself! PHOEBE IS A SUPERHERO. I wonder if she has a cape and if so, if she'd let me borrow it. Or if it would even fit. She has a tiny neck. Tinier than Max's and I know my neck is just slightly bigger than Max's because I tried on his e-collar and it didn't fit but only barely.

Um. Yeah. Maybe the wedding planning is good for me, because without it, I apparently have way too much time on my hands.

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?