So maybe this is what the Gestapo was hesitant about

I was writing, writing, writing a paper this evening, bored and worn out, when Ben called and we decided to go for a walk and get coffee.

We took Mollie, of course, and she was running hither and yon like she is wont to do. We went to the Ugly Mug (a dog friendly joint) and sat down at a table. People kept petting Mollie, as she lay there on the floor. One guy stooped down to pet her and then pointing to the floor, asked, "Um, is that blood?" I missheard him and thought he asked if she had peed on the floor. I said, "No, she doesn't do that, it's just water, she's wet from the rain" He looked at me funny and said, "That's blood" It was. Blood pooling on the floor next to Mollie. The floor is reddish, so you had to look closely, but the pool was widening. Mollie looked unconcerned as I examined her, but she had blood spots on all of her legs and feet. She must have stepped in some glass or something on the walk.

So Ben and I walked her home, and I decided to carry her in the house and deposit her directly into the bathtub so that she wouldn't track the blood all over the floor. After I got her cleaned up, I found that her back right foot was cut badly. So Mollie sat there in the bathtub, bleeding, while I thought of what I could use as a make-shift bandage. I got a rag and some masking tape and bandaged her up. She bled right through it. There are bloody dog prints all over the floor. Shit. Then I realized that I had given blood today and still had the bandage on my arm. I took it off and bandaged up her foot. Minus the bloody gauze from my arm, of course.

Now I have some cleanup to do. I hope the landlord doesn't come to pay a visit tonight. It looks like someone was murdered in here.

Titbits

You know when you want to fake your own death just so that you don't have to talk to someone again? No? Oh.

I saw a big truck outside the window of the bus this morning sporting letters on it's rear window stating, "Bush Bashers r Nbreeds" Cute.

I joined a weight loss forum. It's moderated by Sweetney, so that means it won't be dumb. I want to get fit for the wedding, yo. I don't wanna be jigglin' down the aisle, if you know what I mean.

I feel like it's the Holocaust and Mollie is a Jew I am harboring in my room. She has to hide in her kennel and she can't bark or play the piano or our crazy neighbor will hear her and call the Gestapo Landlord. I called the Gestapo Landlord yesterday to plead for Mollie's life and he was all tight assed about it and said he was not really into the idea, but would let me know at the end of the week. She is currently lying on my bed with her head on my feet, yipping softly in her sleep.

Roomies!

Meet Mollie.



She is our new roommate. Mollie came to live with us on Friday after being evicted from her old place- she didn't want to go into it- something about 15 dollars worth of steak and a lot of screaming. She called me up and asked me if she could crash with us, and I said yes. I am hoping our landlord says yes too.



Mollie's hobbies include:
Staring
Adoring
Licking the dirty plates in the open dishwasher
Throwing up on things
Going for many walks

Mollie and I met 7 years ago when she was just six weeks old. I brought her home and she slept in my bed that night in the crook of my knees. She and I have been inseparable ever since. When I moved to Mexico, she would mope around the house and routinely throw up on the bed in my empty room to express her grief. I wanted to take her back when I moved back to the United States, but our apartment is so small, and Jess is not really an animal person, I just didn't think it was the best for her.



Now that she has nowhere else to go, we are going to try it out, assuming our landlord approves. Keith and I were planning on bringing her with us to California when we move in August, so this is just a little sooner than we had anticipated. I'm having fun. I really missed her.

Something else to be obsessed about

Do not, I repeat, do not use Almond Oil as your moisturizer of choice and then immediately begin styling your hair with your oily hands. The results will make you look as if you are perfecting the Hobo Derelict MK+Ash Olsen look, and you will have nowhere to turn. Needless to say, this is a Hat Day.

In preparation for my destiny as a Farmer's Wife, I have been experimenting with making Kefir and Yoghurt (yog-hurt) from raw milk. I received Nourishing Traditions* for my birthday and am going a little nuts with the lacto-fermentation of my dairy. We soaked our oatmeal last night. I will be soaking all of my food from now on, I don't care what it is. Cold cereal, pop-tarts, donuts, you name it.

I am sitting in my "Nutrition for Health" class as I type this, ironically. All this low calorie and low fat talk is making me sick. I want to stand up and scream that truth can be found in Whole Foods! (Not the store, but actual whole foods. Although Whole Foods, the store is really nice) But I won't. Not today, anyway, they won't take me seriously with the greasy hair under the winter hat.

Lately I have been reading these wedding planning type books that are full of nonsense mostly (put kazoos on the tables for the kids! Or! Hire a clown!), with a nugget or two of helpful advice thrown in here and there. Every time I get to the section entitled "24 Hours to Go" or "Today is the Big Day" I get all choked up. I started weeping yesterday when reading advice about wearing a button down blouse when getting hair and makeup done so that you don't mess up your 'do when changing clothes.

It is weird to think that this time next year, I will be someone's wife. Not just any old someone, but the best someone of all.

*Yes, I have leaped onto the bandwagon. It has been an invigorating and healthy, if a bit lumpy ride so far. I like to call it Flourishing Nutritions, or Encouraging Fruition, rather than Nourishing Traditions for some reason.

It's all down hill from here

You know you've had a good birthday when you wake up, fully clothed in your bed with the heat blasting and your lips glued shut. You may or may not have chipped a tooth.

I have my hooded sweatshirt on, hood up, trying to suppress the foul hangover burps that threaten to hurl me into the unpleasant category of One Who Feels it the Next Day. Ladies and Gentlemen, I do believe I am experiencing my first Hangover. I never used to get them, I would bounce up the next morning, all chipper and ready for a run. That legacy has ended my friends. I have arrived. I am 23 and feel like shit.

There are 140 photos on my camera this morning from last night's debauchery. About 112 of them are all black, or just fuzzy blobs. Let's see if we can find any worth posting.

Most of the craziness started after the crowd left. The dance party pretty much just consisted of Annie, Jess and me.

Before I had the any kind of fever

I was at Old Navy today (the horror!) and I heard a sappy pop song come on, about how we're all pretty on the inside, and if I feel like I look good than I probably do, so I should work it, and if I'm ugly, you're ugly too. As the lyrics progressed, I became increasingly horrified and confused. It raised a few questions for me.
1) Is this really a song? Do they play this on the radio?
2) If I'm ugly, you're ugly too?
3) Is this supposed to make me, the listener feel better about myself? What affect the lyricist hoping to have?
4) What am I doing at Old Navy?

I got a phone call this morning, out of the blue, and was offered an assistant director position at a non-profit agency I used to volunteer for. I had to turn it down because of the whole, moving to another state thing.

I also got a phone call from my wonderful fiance, singing me a new and improved version of the happy birthday song. Yes, 23 years ago today, I came writhing out of my mother's womb, all yellow and cranky.

Here I am, trying to cast a spell on one of my first days in this world.


I was a very fashionable child.

Stuck in the Ugly Mug: JJ Abrams, eat your heart out*

Keith came for two! whole! days! and we squeezed every ounce of good times and happiness out of it. We went out to dinner for V-Day and ate the best meal either of us has ever had in our lives. We drank lots of wine and giggled and made googly eyes and sappy toasts to one another. It was disgusting. I apologize to all those at the Tuscany Grill that had to fix their gaze on their Tiramisu for fear of watching our schmoopiness.

This morning I was slightly late for class, but decided to stop and get some delicious coffee from the Ugly Mug. As soon as I got my fix, I went to open the door and it was stuck. "How embarrassing" I thought "I am an idiot and can't figure out how to open a door" a kind, if slightly condescending man offered to help, and he couldn't get it open either. Soon everyone in the coffee shop tried their hand at getting it open. "Get a knife! Let ME do it! No! This way!" they shouted to one another, as they pushed each other around, jabbing frantically at the handle with butter knives and credit cards. A crowd gathered outside, attempting to get it open from the outside. We used elaborate gestures to "communicate" back and forth between the Outside Crew and the Inside Crew.

I finally called Jess and asked her to bring over a screw driver. She did, and as she walked toward the door, the guy closest to the door who was stabbing uselessly with his American Express card asked "how is that gonna help? We can't get it inside" I rolled my eyes as the man on the outside finally freed us. A True American Hero.

Needless to say, I didn't even try to use the incident as an excuse to my professor.

As I was standing inside the coffee shop, I couldn't help but think about the possibility that we would never be able to leave the Ugly Mug again. I thought it would be a good premise for a show. We would survive on coffee and stale pastries, checking our email using the wifi connection. It would be like Lost, without all the unidentified Monsters and boars and whatnot. Come to think of it, maybe there would be an inidentified monster. Maybe it would be an Ugly Mug that rips your face off when you try to sip your latte. Scary.

*Eat you HEART out? That is not a very nice thing to say to someone. It's also disgusting.

A momentous occasion

Ladies and gentleman, I am proud to announce that RedCouchFever received it's 10,000th visitor this weekend. Someone from Hyattsville, Maryland had no idea when he or she clicked 'next blog' that he or she would be making history. Another reason to open a bottle of wine!

More cowbell

I am here to say that I have been officially cured of the Baby Fever. I just got finished watching three young children for the weekend, and well, I have an appointment to get my tubes tied early tomorrow morning.

The kids weren't really all that bad, actually, but it is just so much work! And they NEED things all the time. And they get up at 6 AM. And they have to be FED regularly. And they won't stop talking! The worst part: you are stuck with them for life! Life! That's too long.

Jess, Ben, Kitri, and I went to a swanky bar with lots of plastic people wearing glittery belts and too much perfume on Friday night. Speaking of fake boobs and perplexing accessories, on the way we were discussing a couple of Abercrombie and Fitch billboards that are featured prominantly near Chinatown. Abercrombie and Fitch sells clothing, right? Then why does the man on this ad seem to be wearing nothing but a sandy football?


The other, more disturbing billboard features a young man, lying down in a pair of ripped underwear. I couldn't find that one on their website, but the image is forever seared in my brain. He's not concerned about the fact that he's in his underwear, nor that they are in shreds. I don't even want to know how they got that way.

We're not all tree hugging granola freaks

I heart Craigslist

It's Gotten Out of Hand

Interpretive bear dance
Originally uploaded by soytyka.

This is the face of Winter Boredom. It's no joke. We have to end it now.

Look Out Portland!

Yeah, baby, it's Friday. The end of a horrendously long week. I think this calls for a celebration. I think it's time to bust out the Trader Joe's Greek Style Plain YOGURT! You heard me. I may even sweeten it up with a little organic MAPLE SYRUP, Bitches! I may dislike the Greeks, but they make a mighty creamy yogurt.

I need to get out more.

I am in a serious fashion rut these days. I pretty much climb out of bed, shower, and put on the same dumbass outfit I had on the day before.

This afternoon, I decided I needed a change. I can't cut my hair because I am growing it out for the wedding, and I can't buy new clothes because I am po' ass broke. So I decided to curl my hair and put on whorish amounts of makeup (one girl's whorish is another girl's nunnish, mind you)

And, tada! After putting on the same dumbass outfit again, but! adding the dusty scarf I was using to decorate the wall above my bed, I am transformed! into Slightly Pathetic All Dressed Up With Nowhere To Go Girl.

I'm going to go make some phone calls.

Now I have the burden of titles

I was late for my nutrition class because I wanted to make sure I ate a good breakfast.

So, I'm back. You can read about my little vacation here. I'd like to think of myself as the Dave Chappelle of blogging. I went nuts, disappeared, wandered around with the giraffes in Africa for a while, and now I'm back. Thanks for humoring me.

I had a feeling this might happen

It has come to my attention that a Certain Someone reads my blog. I found this out tonight and have decided to stop writing on this site. I will be moving to a new one, feel free to email me at soytyka@gmail.com for the url. I hope that most of you follow me over there. Everyone please update your links besides Jenna, Annie, Reina, Bronwen, and Jess.
Thanks

Blab

A word to the wise*
Don't eat a giant bowl of lentils and go to your 4 hour class in the cramped classroom with the tiny desks crowded together. There are only so many times you can lean to your neighbor and say, "Oop, my stomache is growling. Sounds like I'm hungry!"


I think I was hit on by a lesbian on the bus today. She gave me her number and asked me to call her. I made some noises with my mouth and jumped off the bus.

I was undoubtedly hit on by two guys sitting on a porch as I walked by. It went like this:
"Nice earrings!"
"Thanks! I made them"
"I made an earring"
"Oh"
"It's between my legs"
I had no idea how to respond to that, so I just kept walking. If you are going to get creative and make up your own pick up lines, you should try to think up ones that make sense.

*What does that really mean, anyway? Wise people don't need advice. It should really be, "word to the not very smart"