Monday, December 22, 2008

Nahla Love

How does that song go? "Every step you take, every move you make...." something something?
Well anyway, that's what living with Nahla is like. Every time I turn around, she's right there behind me. Every step I take I have to be careful she isn't right underneath my foot. When I go to sleep she follows me to the door. When I open the door in the morning, she's sitting right there. Waiting for me. It's adorable but very dangerous. I'm afraid I'm going to break one of her awkwardly long puppy legs by accidentally stepping on them. When I sit on the couch I have to make sure she didn't weasel her way through my legs and jump into the very spot my bum is about to hit.
We are working on learning 'personal space'. My Bubble, your bubble. But I don't think she really understands. That might be because she doesn't speak English.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Birth Control Woes

Since I'm pretty sure that 99.99999 percent of the people that read my blog are female I have no problem talking about this. For the .0000001 that are male, I'm sorry if this gets a little uncomfortable, but it's always good to know about these things to help you relate to any females in your life.

My birth control made me crazy. Not Britney shaving her head crazy, more like Daisy De La Hoya weepy crazy. I started on TriNessa (a generic form of Ortho) about 5 months ago. All seemed fine and dandy for the first month or two. Then the breakouts started happening.

Some people may hate me for this... but I have never had any problems with acne. Ever. One of the only things I am very grateful for during my teenage years. I may have never grown any boobs, but at least I never had a zit either. But now all of a sudden I had one. Then two. Now it's just gotten crazy. Like a party on my chin. One showed up and invited all his little buddies and I'm going through foundation and other types of cover up faster than I'm going through cream cheese. And I love cream cheese.

On top of all this drama with my skin I've been crying at everything. I cry at commercials, fuzzy animal videos, when I can't find my shoe or when Dallas and his mom got eliminated from The Amazing Race. I cried when the live feed cam puppies started leaving to go to their new homes.

I started dating my new guy right in the middle of all this. I try telling him all the time that I don't usually act like this, I don't always cry during NCIS, but I guess it doesn't really matter since he's still with me anyway. I switch to another prescription this week and am looking forward to not having to wake up and run to the bathroom to put spackle on my chin before my sweetie wakes up.

I just wish I had figured out what the problem was earlier. It's hard to be the tough macho girl that I usually am when I'm crying over a Folgers commercial.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Ruh-Roh, Shaggy

To understand my most recent dilema I think I need to be a little more specific about what Teach teaches. When I first wrote the post calling him teach I didn't really understand his job, I just knew he works for a fancy schmancy private school and teaches classes.

He does teach, but he teaches gym. One class. It's rotated between him and someone else. When he first tried to explain it to me, I was confused. I went to public school, our gym teachers were very um... lame?

"So, you teach kids how to bounce balls? One class period, every other day? And they pay you?"

Then he went into this whole thing about sports medicine, he's a Certified Athletic Trainer, something, something. Then I pictured him as one of those guys at Golds Gym that cheer you on while you're lifting weights.

But no, apparently he's not one of those either.

I didn't really get it until we were watching football. One of the guys went down and all these guys with towels ran out onto the field. He said "see, that's what I do. When one of our athletes gets hurt, I'm the one that deals with them first."

Ohhh. I kinda get it now. I guess at private schools they take their athletics a little more seriously than they do at public school because I don't recall us ever having one specific 'injury guy' at my school. Our athletic department was made entirely of teachers. Our football coach was my history teacher, English teacher coached soccer, etc.

So that's what he does. He doesn't really teach anything, and it's a good thing too. He's not a very academic guy. If it's not sports related, he's not interested.

So here's my dilemma. He has to write a letter of recommendation for one of his student athletic trainers. He asked me if I'd look over it after he was done. He admitted that writing is not one of his strong points. He sent it to me and his dad, asking to check mistakes and grammar issues.

I told him I'd look it over, but I would be absolutely no help with the grammar, but I'd let him know if I saw anything wrong.

So I looked it over. It was awful. Just awful. Grammar is the least of his problem. It was too long. It pointed out things that he didn't like about his student. But he followed up with, "he has matured and doesn't do them anymore". I know he had good intentions, and I may be wrong, but a recommendation letter is supposed to be fluffy and point out things that are good about someone. That is why you recommend them, duh.

So, I took a few minutes, pulled out all the good things, reworded most of it and threw together a much better letter. Basically completely gutting the whole thing. I also ran my version by my bestest who is an English major. I sent him back my version, with this little note...

"Hey babe!! Your letter was great! A little long though, maybe? I condensed it down a little and added a few suggestions. Read mine over and let me know what you think."

Now thinking about it, I hope he doesn't get offended. He hasn't responded yet. Did I overdue it a little?

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Teach and His Bobbleheads

I never thought I'd be the girl that falls for the guy who decorates his condo in bobbleheads.
But it happened and I am completely ok with it.
For now.

Saturday, December 6, 2008


Last night as I was getting ready to go out I snapped this picture of Nahla. I thought it was so cute, her surrounded by her toys.

When I went to review the picture I noticed this....

GAH!! That's my brush!!
She's such a little punk.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Sippin on my Haterade

No, the title of this post bears no relevance to what I am typing. This is my second attempt to keep myself sane without having to dish out the dolla dolla bills for therapy. Whether this is your first time reading anything I've shared, or if you followed me over from here, welcome. There are a few things I think you should know....

*I have terrible grammar, I over punctuate!!!! and I type like I talk, so it doesn't always make sense. If any of these things bother you, I am really sorry!!

*Sometimes I blog when I am drunk. I try to remember to hit my spell check, but it doesn't always happen. Forgive me.

* The main reason I blog is to help myself organize all the crazy issues going on in my head. I love my bloggy buddies and always love their input and advice, but haters BEWARE. I will not be drinkin on your hater-ade.

*What is it with me and the hater-ade tonight?

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