|
mydogischelsea
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Laura
Country: United States
State: Oregon
Metro: Portland
Birthday: 8/21/1982
Gender: Female
Interests: Crossword puzzles, glazed donuts, sailing and windsurfing, writing, gyros, the New York Times Op-Ed page, sociology, knitting and selling my car.
Expertise: Procrastination and time-wasting.
Email: email me
Member Since:
11/22/2004
|
|
| Hello, Xangasphere.
So, here's the deal: for the past 3 years, I've been double-posting my blog entries to my website (mydogischelsea.com) and my Xanga site. This made sense when I first made the move, because the vast majority of my readers were in the Xanga community.
That has changed. Now, most people read my site at mydogischelsea.com, accessing it via Facebook and Twitter and various RSS feed readers—or simply going to the site directly. Many of my longtime Xanga readers have either disappeared altogether, or come from somewhere other than their Xanga subscription module.
Double-posting my entries has always been a pain in the arse. But, more important: I didn't realize this, since I use Ad Block on Firefox, but some of the animated ads that Xanga runs on my site are disgusting, obnoxious or downright inappropriate. Though I am not ready to delete my account altogether (I'd still like to comment on your sites, and not all of you allow outside commenters), ads like these make me want to scrap the account. But for now, I won't.
All of this is to say: if you mainly read my blog from this address (xanga.com/mydogischelsea), you will no longer be able to. Instead, please bookmark mydogischelsea.com. You can also find me on Twitter: twitter.com/mydogsichelsea. Or, add my site to your RSS feed or a feed reader.
I'll still be here. Just not actually here.
See you in the blogosphere,
mydogischelsea
PS: No, I did not win the stand mixer. Sad, isn't it?
| | |
| I need your help. NEED it. Like, really badly. For this: 
Here’s the thing: I have wanted one of these retro-looking KitchenAid stand mixers since before I even had a kitchen to put it in. Heck, since before I even knew how to bake! Yes—it’s true, I have a hand-held mixer, and he is a great little guy—he gets the job done and everything—but there are just some things you need a real powerhorse of mixer for. A mixer who can stand up to the challenge. And one that comes in such a sleek physique? It’s enough to make my mouth water. So here’s how you can help: join culinate.com (my absolute FAVORITE cooking website) and then add me as a friend. I know, I know—you’ll have to create a login and who needs another login ID, yada yada yada, believe me, I know. But I wouldn’t be asking for your help if I didn’t need it. (Remember: beautiful stand mixer!) This is the deal: the more friends I add on Culinate, the higher my chances of winning the mixer. It’s kind of like the opposite of that Burger King deal where you drop 10 Facebook friends and get a free Whopper (um, by the way, ew. You couldn’t PAY me to eat one of those deathtraps let alone give it to me for FREE). But in this case, I’m adding friends and possibly getting something INCREDIBLY AWESOME, and you, my friend (my Culinate friend!), will benefit: If I win the mixer, I will use it to bake something for everyone who adds me as a friend on Culinate. Even if you don’t live in Portland. I’ll mail it to you (with the mix CDs I promised two years ago). THAT’S HOW BADLY I WANT THIS MIXER. So to recap: And lest you be worried about what you’re signing up for—I kid you not when I say Culinate is my favorite cooking site. It has GREAT recipes—seasonal, simple, delicious. The recipes work (and not in that “slave away through seventeen fiddly steps” Cooks Illustrated kind of way, which is enough to make yourself want to crawl into a 450 degree oven)—and they work well. And if you don’t cook, no matter—you won’t get spam. OK. Sorry for the solicitation. But rememer: you could get something yummy in return and MDIC NEEDS THAT STAND MIXER! This is a matter of utmost importance. Thank you!
| | |
| I’ve been getting back into making art. It’s been years, truly, since I’ve done anything like this. I feel old saying this, but (yikes) it’s been nearly a decade. Here’s Calla: 
| | |
| Today is Calla's one-year adoption anniversary! A lot has changed since she and I first met: - Her name was Rosie.
- She was 13 pounds skinnier and every rib stuck out.
- She was skittish around all human beings, myself included.
- Walking her on a leash was like playing tug-of-war.
- She peed and pooped in the house.
- Two weeks after bringing her home, her separation anxiety became so bad I thought I would have to give her up.
Consider this excerpt from a post last February: My new mantra is: Every day is an adventure. Yesterday’s adventure involved a half pound of baking chocolate and a late-night (and very expensive) trip to the emergency vet. She and Hanu (who I am dogsitting) are both fine, but are getting a healthy dose of liquid charcoal every 8 hours. And why was the chocolate in a doggy-accessible place, you ask? Well—I had no idea that the top of the refrigerator was fair game. Apparently, either this dog can jump to the moon or she’s learned how to use the stove as a step stool. Will I come home to find shredded recycling all over the house? Rolled oats scattered on the living room floor? The coat rack knocked atop of giant piles of diarrhea? It’s anyone’s guess—because every day is an adventure. But what is life without adventures?
Then of course, there was the infamous door-eating episode. Not sure what is particularly appealing about particle board, but I guess when she got bored with the moldings, blinds, trims, coat pockets, headphones and books, she decided, why yes! I think I'll eat a door: 
These days, it's a different story. She is by no means perfect—heck, she knows how to open the refrigerator!—but she's making progress. For instance: She's learned to love the car, which means that I can go out for a few hours while she snoozes away in the front seat. She's picked up a bevy of commands, including: sit, stay, down, drop it, leave it, come, hold steady (for balancing a treat on her nose), wait, in your crate, where's Monkey? (her favorite toy), and go potty (AWESOME!). She's calmer—not serene, of course, but calmer. I can now leave my house confident that I will not return to find a) that major parts of the house are missing or destroyed or b) fecal matter in the living room. But most of all, she's opened up. She's let people and dogs into her life in a way I never thought possible a year ago. This was a dog who wouldn't let you touch her with a ten-foot pole. Now? She curls up next to me and nudges her nose under my arm, rolls over onto her back with arms extended and says (in doggy language), "Mom, gimme a damn belly rub already!" This was her a year ago: 
This was her in early December, after the back-to-back fridge and freezer break-ins: 
She has since gone on a minor diet and has successfully lost the 1 pound I was hoping she would. Last night I made pupcakes. She scarfed one this morning: 
Happy Callaversary!!!
| | |
| Last week I had a somewhat disturbing dream. Not for what happened in it, per se, but for what I felt.
So I was walking down the street—it was my mother's street—and outside of her building was a loitering stranger. The front door was wide open, and I was immediately suspicious. But just as I was about to approach the man, a sudden loud blast exploded in my ear. It felt like the sound of incredibly voluminous speaker feedback at close range—that is, deafening, shocking, ringing, unbalancing. In my dream, I had been shot in the ear by some sort of ear-blasting dart that rendered me deaf in the left ear.
Livid, I ran up to the man and began to yell: "WHAT THE F--- WAS THAT?! F---ING HELL THAT HURT! OUCH! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO TO ME?" (Yes, I have a potty mouth even in my sleep!)
He didn't answer, and I went inside to make sure my mother was OK. I remember talking to someone and saying I couldn't hear out of my left ear. Slowly, it started to get better, and eventually my hearing returned. I woke up, unsettled, a few minutes before my alarm.
What happened? Maybe nothing. I may never know. But that pain was so real, so ridiculously amplified and tangible, that I find it hard to believe I dreamt it. My ear felt fine when I awoke, but a little off. Not painful, for sure, but off. Still—at 5:57 a.m. it's hard to tell what's on and off.
Even now, a week later, I can still feel the pain in my inner ear when I recall the dream. I feel it down my spine and in the back of my head and when I yawn (this is the oddest thing), I know something is off. It feels almost like I'm on an airplane and the damn thing is popping from the pressure drop.
Who knows. Dreams are so odd. I guess it doesn't matter whether or not it happened in real life—it really hurt. And I hope it (whatever it is) doesn't happen again.
| | |
|
