I am procrastinating. A lot. Our basement is full of Christmas paraphernalia. Everything from wrapping supplies, tinsel, tape, scraps, and bows, to Christmas “damage,” otherwise known as the hoards and hoards of gifts my mom spoiled Trent and I with (I’m not mad). I received so many trinkets, I don’t think I have enough places to put them. On the other hand, my mom took my Yankee Candle hint very seriously. She got me 3 giant Christmasy candles, three Christmasy scented wall-flowers, Christmasy chapstick, and a room spray. Our bedroom smells like Mrs. Claus’ kitchen on Christmas Eve. The air is good enough to eat. My surroundings smell like sugar cookies and vanilla frosting. Mmmm.
I am not a cat person. I’m just not. It starts with my horrible cat allergy, and ends with felines’ general disinterest in humans. I think the term “bitch” should refer to cats, not dogs. When you get home after a long day, dogs are like, “PANT, PANT, PANT, GASP! Y-Y-YOU’RE HOME!!” Cats are like, “…..oh…..you’re back,” and then slink away and disappear behind the television. I don’t like to be made to feel unimportant, Whiskers. Do you understand? I’m not sure what it is about people who are obsessed with cats. Kittens I get. They are undeniably cute and excited about mundane household items such as bottle caps and clothing tags. But full-grown cats? All they do is hide behind curtains and lay low behind chaise lounges, mainly out of sight. If I want something just to know it exists, I’ll get a decorative lamp, not a secret animal that I don’t get to see or enjoy but still have to feed, water, and clean up after.
I have an obsession with dogs. I spend an unnecessary amount of time on PetFinder.com looking at puppies and dreaming of adopting them all. My newest obsession? Catahoula Leopard Dogs.
No two really look alike, but they are dashing young canines. I’m also still obsessed with corgis (you might have noticed). They’re such dirt bags. I love them. After Trent and I get married in June, we’re getting either a catahoula or a corgi. If we go the corgi route, I’m planning on the tri-color so Alan doesn’t have a twin.
Awwww. I can’t wait.
I hate it when people give a physical description of themselves on their profile information. “I’m 5’8, shoulder-length brown wavy hair, blue eyes.” Nobody cares about your dimensions. Not only do people not care, but they can see anyway from your photos. Do people not understand this?
I’m really glad mascara exists, because if it didn’t, I would be single. My eyelashes are invisible. They do a disappearing act when I wash my face. It’s disturbing. I wish I didn’t look like a boy. Thank god for CoverGirl.
“How was last night?”
“I woke up with a bloody ear, three missing coat buttons, and I vomited in a parking garage. You tell me.”