Saturday, January 26, 2008

Sort of like a vet

This weekend I am dog, fish, and cat sitting for one of my TAs. I've dog and cat sitted before, and so far it's been a pretty no-brainer activity, which makes me think I am not yet ready for kids. Because if couples get a dog to see if they can handle it before a child, then I'd most likely fail at the kid thing when I measure out 1/3 cup of a dog food for the baby.

The cat, Nonsense, has diabetes, which means I have to give it an insulin shot every 12 hours. I have a pretty long history of hating getting shots and while I don't particularly mind administering them, I do mind the 2-3 steps I have to take toward the cat brandishing the shot right before I poke it in the scruff. During these 3 seconds, any number of things could happen that could lead to the needle poking right into my eye: I could hit a patch of ice, slip on a banana peel, be knocked over by the small terrier dog they have, have the ceiling cave in over me, or have to itch my eye and unknowingly use the injection to scratch. I have constructed escape plans for basically each of these situations, so I feel like I have my bases covered. Except for if an alien spaceship lands, I still have no clue what I'd do to prevent a serious injury with the needle in that case.

The dog came from a rescue and her name is Ethel. After Ethel Merman. She's a little bit...jumpy, and scared. And very wee. She sleeps in my TA's bed at night after I put her there, and gets up when I take her out. On her walks I usually end up carrying her for part of the way because she doesn't like the snow and starts feigning a limp half way down the street, or just refuses to walk. But she still has to go to the bathroom so I end up putting her down and telling her to poo and pee. Or rather, since I am in college and now extremely sophisticated, to "defecate," and since I (evidently) talk to dogs while I walk them, I end up telling her a lot more.

When I know I'm not going to come into contact with people for a longer period of time and I have to go outside, I refuse to wear anything less than a pair of tights and 2 pairs of pants, plus my sweatshirt, jacket, and earmuffs. Or 2 pairs of tights and one pair of pants, plus sweater, jacket, and earmuffs. So basically, I am very large and puffy. I never really thought about the sizes of dogs until I went on a walk with my dog-walker friend. He said that people look at him with more respect when he is with bigger dogs, as if he were with a REAL dog instead of a toy. I don't really know if this is true. But I guess I know how I'd look at someone who looks remarkably like the Michelin man towering over a tiny, shivering, limping dog and telling it to poo on command.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

The high on Saturday will be 10 degrees Farenheit

I have never talked about body image issues or the hefty-ish (HA!) problems I had to deal with being a twee bit larger than what I should be and the subsequent self-consciousness stemming from this. Why hadn't I talked about this before? Because they are extremely typical and boring, and because it's personal and no concern of yours. And because no one REALLY cares.

I'm happy to say that I'm getting to a point where I don't feel cripplingly bashful around others or angry about what I see in the mirror. This was facilitated not by a miraculous drop in my weight, but more because I grew up and because of this:

Why yes, that is a fully length mirror in my bathroom. (And yes, that is the toilet paper in the most inconvenient location imaginable). I've never had one before. In addition to being forced to see almost every nook and cranny of my body, clad or unclad, which I have never done before this year, nor have I ever wanted to, I have also had to come to terms with how I look while going to the bathroom.

I'd say elegant and contemplative.

Yennie's latest project has also been a positive influence upon this revamping of my body image. Yennie is a page at Special Collections and I think it would appropriate to liken our friendship to a passionate romance: involved and sudden. And who knows how long. It was at the end of last quarter where we discovered each others' existence and that lo, they were pretty compatible. Within a relatively short amount of time we were revealing our hearts' desires, confessing how hard it is to find some of the books in the "waiting to be reshelved" shelves, and our love for leather binding.

It was her idea to go on the "Special K" diet (which I just christened the "Special Kollections" diet), not necessarily because we need to, but more out of curiosity. In this form of self-induced torture and penitential living, one substitutes 2 bowls of cereal for 2 meals and eats the third meal as one would normally, and can consume fruits and vegetables with abandon. One is also allowed 2 Special K bars per day, which measure about 1"x3" and can keep a very small bird alive for half a day. This actually isn't so bad, aside from the cereal tasting more and more styrofoam-like with each successive bowl. I thought this would be a diet we'd keep from others, something that would let us pass significant glances at each other over the photocopy machine and to smile mysteriously at each other while she passed me at the exhibit cases. That illusion quickly dissolved as she brought the costco sized Special K boxes to work and announced to everyone that she and her girlfriend, Adrianne, were going on the Special K diet. This instigated a whole chain of conversation, which led to people I didn't even know in the department coming up to me to tell me they knew I was on the Special K diet, almost like they were telling me they knew what I ate the night before.

One day after work last week Yennie waited for me to get off my shift so we could shop for our fruits and veggies together. As she saw me walking toward her, she exclaimed "Adrianne, it IS almost like we're dating each other! I'm waiting for you after work!" To which I replied "Want to make out in the stacks?" David, a man sitting at the desk then said "You two don't have enough calories in you to make out."

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Some Remarkable Things

One remarkable thing is I am back in Chicago, in one piece, but not before I put up a valiant fight on the airplane, after which I was dragged kicking and screaming down the narrow aisle and into the terminal.

The other remarkable thing is that my friend Rory Kelly has finally updated a blog. I know that that link on the side no one actually clicks on declares that Rory Kelly occasionally updates his blog, but this is not the case. He actually never really updates it. And this is a new one, maybe for the new year? Huh? Huh? Too good to be true?

This new blog also does something very new: while his old blog provided an endless source of entertainment for me, because it mentioned ME about 30 times every millisecond or so and I realize that I could be the subject of a few dissertations and provide endless inspiration for researchers and bloggers alike, this entry gives me rather scant attention. In fact, it doesn't mention me one blessed time. Which means that the blog automatically loses some appeal for me, but may hold more for you. So there it is: a link. Revel in it.

This year's New Year was rung in at Stacy's sister's house with champagne and cow racing on the wii. Or WII? I have no idea how to correctly write it. To which champagne probably wouldn't provide the answer. And New Year's resolutions? I always say I don't make them. I always make a big deal about not making them, since I'd rather make them on my birthday, or not at all. But I'll let you in on a secret: I made one this year. And this year's resolution is to make it onto Rory's new blog at least once.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

I REALLY don't want to go back to Chicago

I thought I had, at one point, written about the joy of getting new glasses. About eye appointments. About how ecstatic I am when I am at the optometry center, but apparently I talked about this joy in conjunction with dentist appointments, because I love going there as well.

Let me tell you now, then: I love going to the eye doctors. Not just because this usually means new frames, but because of all the out-of-this-world, awesome things they can see in your eyes. Like yesterday, my eye doctor looked at the BACK OF MY RETINA. THROUGH THE FRONT OF IT. WITH A TINY MAGNIFYING GLASS. WHICH MEANS THAT HE COULD SEE PART OF MY BRAIN. This is not an everyday occurrence, everyone! I only wish they would make glasses that would make ME see the backs of everyone's eyes.

Yesterday, though, something weird happened. I didn't get new frames for eyeglasses, I opted to go for prescription sunglasses instead, the wisdom of which I am beginning to question now. I remember during the summer saying a bunch of times "I wish I had prescription sunglasses. I REALLY wish I had prescription sunglasses. Geez, it would be really nice if I had prescription sunglasses," and when I went to the optometrist yesterday, after seeing that none of the glasses really had "ADRIANNE!" written all over them, I said "Man, it would be really nice to have prescription sunglasses."

(On a side note, though, the ones that did appeal to me seemed so outrageous that I began to wonder if just maybe I needed to get a stronger prescription. Gold frames with massive amounts of bling on the side? Was I thinking straight?)

This is beginning to worry me because new glasses meant an entirely new me, since I wear my glasses religiously. And yesterday, I decided that none of the glasses fit me quite as well as the ones I have now. What if this means that from now I am going to be that person who wears the same glasses forever? What if I am stagnating? What if the next step is that I decide that I am entirely happy the way I am right now?