Light of my life.

Oh, leave it to Free People to reuse those energy-inefficient incandescents.

Feed me, Seymour!

Feed bags at Gilt tomorrow...just saying. Get one.

Tax man cometh.

A few days late but what the heck?

Dog love.

Can I just say I love J.Crew and the fact the model posed with a Chihuahua is even better.

Day three.

Day three with Carly Simon brought another night of her blissfully sleeping in my bed and not moving until about 4am which wasn't so bad. It also brought another morning of her eating and trying to get in my lap and beg me not to leave. I once again crated her and shut the bathroom doors. Where would she be 8 hours later.....
Turns out she had escaped the crate, but not the bathroom. She had however jumped leaps and bounds to reach a silk tank and I found tiny black fur on the bathroom counter. I had Houdini and Michael Jordan all rolled into one. I was also minus a shirt.

Happy birthday, Houdini!

Crate-trained, my ass. My second day with Carly I had to go to work. I really question why companies don't offer "puppy leave." I felt so bad for her, but what was I to do? I sat nervously at work a good 5 and a half hours before leaving early to care for my new child. I got home...opened the door and heard a jingle. A dog collar jingle. I walked up the stairs and saw MY DOG standing in the living room quite content with herself and apparently mocking me. The same dog I had left in her crate in the bathroom with the doors shut was now out. How did she do it? I still do not know and I seriously considered investing in a webcam. What was she going to do next? And wow, did I have my hands full!

Where are we going?

Yep, you guessed it I got a dog. A mangy little mut. I put a deposit on the little Chihuahua for 24 hours and ended up going back the day before Valentine's to make her mine. I knew I had wanted a dog for more than four years and this little pooch had stolen my heart. No doubt it was going to be a huge responsibility, but not one I could not handle. So I did it....for better or worse.

Running man.

The two words I thought I'd never see or hear. Track pants.....bloody track pants.

Certainly I have had blind dates before...one my cousin set up and the other my high school principal found me. I should have learned by now to just say no (no how and no way)! Apparently I am a sucker for a bad date so I agreed to meet the friend's younger and completely fabulous brother. So to recap he was not fabulous and not that much of a gentleman. Note to self--never trust a family member. The first contact we had was an extremely poorly worded email that went something like this:

Yooooooo. So and sos brother here. I'm sure your wide open but I was going to
see if you wanted to get dinner this week.

I was utterly flabbergasted but responded five hours later confirming the fact I had a horribly busy schedule and would be unable to accommodate him that week. He apologized for the extremely rude and poorly worded email, but what else was he supposed to say? He calls me the next week and I agree to dinner. Mistake one.

Date 1:

Average Joe shows up slightly late, apologizes. We shake hands and proceed to his car....a silver Beemer. Right off the bat, I knew this was a bad sign. The date continued on to an upscale Mexican place (oxymoron and I don't like Mex that much). We waited for what seemed like ages and exchanged casualties with a guy he knew. Thankfully we got a table and were able to awkwardly talk our way through dinner. Nothing too bad and not horrible as far as first dates go. Overall a 5 out of 10, but this was definitely not the guy for me and he was a little a lot immature for 34.

Date 2:
Yes, I opted to subject myself to more blind date torture. I got a text from Average Joe asking if I wanted to grab lunch the following week. Thankfully or not so thankfully I had training and meetings all week that conveniently wiped out my lunch hour so I politely declined. He then asked me to dinner. I guessed it wouldn't go horribly, but oh how it did. I had not heard from him since Monday and I received a text Thursday at 2 pm that went something like this:

How's training? Great, how's your day? Just living the
dream. Pick you up at 7.

Really I didn't know anyone else that was living the dream other than Tom Cruise or Matthew Mcconaughey and his L-I-V-I-N. I thought about saying I've got other plans, but I acquiesced. Was he there at 7? No--7:30pm.....I swung open my door and had to lift my mouth off the floor and resist the urge to look like a deer in the headlights. Average Joe was wearing TRACK PANTS.....nylon track pants. I was completely astonished wondering if anyone even owned those anymore. Had he come from a pickup basketball game or did he actually think this was stylish? Either way it was disturbing. We got in his car and he muttered that he didn't really have a plan, which was completely disrespectful as far as second dates go. He tried to suggest basically the Shoney's of sushi but we ended up at P.F. Chang's (like that was better). The date was a train wreck....

I have yet to recover from the bad food, disrespect and more importantly bad pants. Any of these things individually would have been problem, but the pants took the cake. For fear date three holds a Member's Only jacket I am walking away. Other girl's get engaged, get married and get flowers; I get track pants.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

There is never a good time to have kids or move and I did just that....or both of "thats." I changed cities and jobs in a matter of a few weeks and have found myself adjusting well to my new situation (shockingly).

I guess a part of me thought I had it too easy and after lusting over my coworkers adopted puppies and perusing the company classifieds I was, in fact, dog crazy. I found one online but the dog came with issues, a moody owner and apparently the desire to piss his life away mark everything in sight. Next idea....only look at girl dogs. I jumped to the humane society's web page and found several adult dog options. One was a terrier and the other was a Chihuahua mix. I never thought I would consider a Taco Bell dog, but a few days later there I sat at the Greater Birmingham Humane Society filling out paper work. Who knew you couldn't pet dogs until you had signed your life away? (Must be part of the gimmick..by the time you fill out paper work and wait an hour and a half you might as well get a dog).
Did they bother to tell me you could only see three dogs in a day? Nope. Well I had to pick three...I found the little nacho cheese dog I had called about. Pros: Housebroken (possibly), crate trained, 3 years old. Cons: She had been knocked up, she was a Chihuahua, she might have separation anxiety, did I mention she was a Chihuahua? I had waited nearly two hours and I was finally going to see her. Immediately she was shaking in my arms. Great...what's next peeing? I held her and let her wander around. She seemed to be holding on for dear life. I played with her to the best of my ability. She felt so tiny and so very frightened. I let the handler take her back and asked about the terrier. She was eight or nine and not remotely house broken. I vetoed. Sadly I had seen a St. Bernard and fallen in love. I asked to see her knowing that there was no way in hell I could have that beast, but she was the gentlest giant sitting and staying on command. She did slobber and shed enough to plaster my jeans in a thick coating of spit and fur. Gross, but true...so maybe the little chi-wow-wow was for me.

I asked to see her again.....

If.

If you are going to be a bear, be a grizzly.