20 Ways to Know if You Live in a Hick Household (I Thought I was Pretty Good at Keeping an Un-Hick Home. I was Wrong.)

Holy shit, I've been gone for a year! Okay, not really, but it feels like forever since I've written a post. I'd give you all a good excuse, but the truth is that the only reason I haven't written is because I didn't feel like it. Well, that, and the fact that life's been boring as hell.

Anyways, to make up for my longer-than-usual absense, here is a longer-than-usual post. With lots of pictures for people who don't like words. Although if you don't like words, I have no idea why you come to my blog. Weirdo.

-------------------------------------------------------------

While looking for hick sterotypes, I came across this list. Though it was posted in a chat room (and so is about as credible as my knowledge of llama mating practices), I decided to see how many of these items applied to our household.

I then found out how far I've fallen down the rabbit hunting hole.

Disclaimer: We do not hunt rabbits. Except for Lucy. She's a bitch.

Without further ado, here is the list, and how we score on it.

1. "Couch that folds out into a bed. Common among whiteys in general, but in hick homes it's a staple thing..."
• Okay, if this person used the term whitey, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that they're a non-whitey. And because I've never seen, let alone heard of an African, Hispanic, Asian, Middle-Eastern or Native hick, I'm also gonna assume that this person is an outsider looking in at hicks, and can therefore give a fairly accurate portrayal of what non-hicks consider to be hick-ish.
• That being said, we don't have a futon. 
• A "Normal" household: 1, A Hick Household: 0.
• Sidenote: When we stay over at my parents' house, we have two options: the spare bedroom upstairs, which contains our old double bed and furniture, and my grand-mother's old pull-out couch from the 70's in the basement's entertainment room. Guess which one Andrew picks, every single time? Yeah, that's right: the damn 40+ year old pull-out couch.
• Sidesidenote: We've called dibs on Andrew's parent's old futon.
2. "axe"
• We don't have an axe either! Well, technically we don't have an axe because Andrew's dad has a mechanical woodsplitter..
• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 0.
3. "rifle - .306 (thirty-aught-six) for deer hunting, unless you hunt with shotgun slugs...but ****, you should really have both for the full hick experience."
• Fuck. While Andrew doesn't have a .306, he does have a rifle and seven shotguns. Yes, I'm completely serious
• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 1
• On a related note, you are welcome to join us in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Providing you have beneficial skills and resources. Like medical knowledge. Or a herd of alpacas.
• Yes, we have a zombie apocalypse plan. It never hurts to be prepared.
• Shut up.
4. "pick up truck - american-made, of course...jeeps are semi-respectable too, but not nearly as much as a pick-up."



Picture from a mudding expedition. Cause, obviously.

• Double fuck.
• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 2
5. "every type of essential camping and fishing item known to man."



Camo. On our anniversary.

• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 3
• On our first anniversary, I bought Andrew a camping grill. His response was "Wow, thanks! ...So, was I supposed to get you something too?"
• Every anniversary since then, we've celebrated by having a picnic in the back of Andrew's pick-up truck, camping grill included.
6. "barbed-wire fence marking the exact boundaries of your property line"
• A barbed-wire fence shall only appear in the event of a zombie apocalypse.
• Normal: 2.5 Hick: 3
7. "chaw/chew... and - with real old hicks - a spitoon."
• Oh God. If a spitoon ever appeared, I would leave him in 2 seconds flat.
• Normal: 3.5 Hick: 3
8. "at least one mounted taxidermy piece - preferably a deer with 8+ point antler configuration"
• Okay, so here's the thing. Before we ever moved in together, I tricked Andrew into promising to never bring any sort of stuffed animal into our future households. I have never regretted that bit of trickery.
• That being said, we do have antlers hanging on the wall in Andrew's man-cave. There's just no bone or fur attached to it.
• ....And there's going to be a coyote pelt hanging in our shed (aka, man-cave number 2).
• Normal: 3.5 Hick: 4
9. "septic tank"
• What the hell does that have to do with being a hick? That just means we live outside of town.
• Normal: 3.5 Hick: 5
10. "gas generator"
• We're saving up for one. So I'm gonna count it as one point for normalcy.
• Normal: 4.5 Hick: 5
11. "wood-panelling in every inch of your home"
• Ha!
• Normal: 5.5 Hick: 5
12. "mangy pet, usually a dog - hicks tend to drown their cats"



Our "mangy" dog. Fuck you, list-maker. She' a superstar.

• And most hicks that I know don't drown their cats, thank you very much!
• Normal: 5.5 Hick: 6
13. "smoker for fish and deer jerky"
• We don't have one. Unfortunatey, that's the type of item that will be on our wedding registry when Andrew finally puts a ring on it.
• Normal: 6.5 Hick: 6
14. "stilt-house/single-level house...but no subterranean, dug-in basement other than a coal den...and often just a trailer-home"



Well, this is getting kind of awkward...

• Normal: 6.5 Hick: 7
15. "clothes-line"
• Got that.
• Normal: 6.5 Hickness: 8
16. "road-side mailbox"
• Nope. There's so few people in our area that no one bothers to come out here to bring flyers.
• Except for the Jehovah Witnesses. You guys are determined as hell to spread the word.
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 8
17. "way out of tune, piece of **** spinet piano"
• This one is definitely my fault. I've always wanted a real piano, so when my childhood friend was selling his and asked if I wanted to buy it, I was all "FUCK YEAH I WANT A FUCKING PIANO!"
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 9
18. "beer-can collection"
• This one is definitely not my fault .
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 10
19. "dirtbike"
• Andrew sold his sporty four-wheeler (which is just a dirtbike with two extra wheels, cause MORE WHEELS IS SO MUCH COOLER) after he impressed me enough that I slept with him.
• So since he sold it, I'm not gonna count it. Because I'm already losing hard enough as it is.
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 11
20. "1/2 mesh baseball cap"
• I don't let Andrew wear those anymore. However, that doesn't mean he has million of them.
• Honestly, he has two bags full of hats in our closet, plus a bag left at his parents, plus a bunch in our mud room, plus these "favourite" hats that he leaves on the top of the couch.

The favourites.

Total Score:

Normal: 7.5

Hickness: 12

I might as well start learning to play the banjo and include camo in my attire. 

This is Why We Don't Own Nice Things

After paying more than $2 on a gift bag for my niece's present, I took a picture of it to show it off to my mother. It wasn't until after I sent it that I noticed a little gnawing going on.

 

Nice, Tika. Real nice.

Thank God kids care more about what's inside the bag than the actual bag itself.

As if Cats Weren't Already Paranoid Enought Without Needing a Reason...

Every couple of days, we wake up or come home to find our artificial Christmas tree kinda bent out of shape, with a few of its ornaments laying on the ground, as if the tree just came home from a Frosh Week binge.

And since Lucy isn't allowed to stay indoors unsupervised anymore, it's gotta be the cats. My theory is strongly supported by the evidence from when I caught Sako last Sunday on the top third of the tree, attacking a bell ornament. The fact that she was also on the outside of the tree, and not in the tree, makes me assume that she just pulled a Keifer Sutherland and fucking launched herself onto the tree.

 

They also have a history of using the tree as a vacation spot, as seen in this video from last year.
 

So when Andrew bought himself a motion-detecting hunting camera (you know, the ones you strap to a tree so you can find out if a lot of deer come by so you can slaughter them for antlers and burgers), I thought we could use it for more peaceful dectective work instead.

Result: the hunting/spy camera is now propped up on my piano and doing 24 hour monitoring of our Christmas tree and surrounding area. We're gonna catch these bitches in the act.

The suspected culprit of 90% of all tree-related incidents.

The other cat who is probably too fat to climb the tree anymore.
Also, we have like four pictures of her in that exact same spot
and pose, but during different times in the night.

So far, the only suspicious action the camera has caught is the mysetrious removal of two Christmas presents from under the tree (which were all strategically placed so that the cats couldn't get to the base of the tree).



Gifts there....

Gifts gone.

Tree-watching will continue until the gun-cats are caught in the act.

Sidenote: Not gonna lie, while Andrew and I were looking through all the nighttime photos on his camera, a small part of me was scared that we were randomly going to have a dead girl in a photo, proving that minihomes can be haunted too.

Sidesidenote: I don't even watch scary movies and thoughts like these pop up in my head. Could you imagine how permanently terrified I would be if I did?

Kittens at the Vet

Here are a few photos of the kitties when I brought them to the vet for their checkup.

Sidenote: Yes, I realize that they should no longer be referred to as kittens. I don't care.

Anyways, nothing too exciting happened at the vet; the cats acted the same as they always do.

As usual, Tika doesn't really give a shit what's going on around her.

And Sako runs and hides at the first sign of anything new.

She stayed hidden behind the vet's laptop until we pried her away to do the examination. She then hid again as soon as it was over. You know, in case the vet suddenly decided to amputate her for no apparent reason.

Seriously, it's like this cat is on a permanent crack cocaine binge.

However, the most stressful part of this yearly trip is always the ride home. The cats have this cute little tradition where they shit in their crate on the way back home from the vet, just to spite me.

Every. Fucking. Time.

On this visit though, they seemed to be doing good. Until we got about two minutes away from the house. Then all at once, the car was filled with a stench. The traditional gift-of-thanks-for-checking-on-their-health stench.

Time suddenly seemed to slow down. As I gagged and frantically rolled all the windows down, the two cats stared me down from their shared crate. The look in their eyes can only be translated as "That's what happens when you take us to the vet, Bitch."

Thanks for the shit, kittens.

I Guess I Should Acknowledge That the Holiday Season is Here...



This weekend, we're attempting to take a family portrait for our annual Christmas Card. We'll either look like gorgeous models, or total trainwrecks. (We never half-ass anything, we go all the way. Except for cleaning attempts: cleaning house is always done half-ass.)

 

Anyways, I just finished decorating my giant-sized wreath (which I love), but now I'm like "Where the fuck am I going to put this ginormous wreath?" So until I find a way to hang the wreath on the side of the house without making holes in the walls, I have to hide the wreath in Andrew's Man-cave. It's got to be put away because the cats seem to have a death wish involving eating as many glitter-covered pine cones and fake holly berries (not to be confused with fake Halle Barrys) as possible. They wouldn't last a day in the wild.

 

Because they're made of plastic, and you'll die.

Sidenote: Sorry there hasn't been any posts this past week. It's like the ridiculously small amount of daylight hours has made me all blah and meh. But I think I'm over that now.

What's Been Going on in the Hick/Crazy Household this Fall.

While picking my nicest pictures of the season, I now realize how much of a crazy cat/dog lady I am. There's an entire world out there, but I apparently would rather take pictures of the same three subjects over and over and over again.

Sidenote: This is why I should never take drugs. Well, non-prescribed drugs.

Sidenote sidenote: I don't not take drugs because I take too many pictures of my pets. It's because I think I have such an addictive personality that if I did do illegal drugs, even once, I would probably automatically get addicted to it and become a paranoid crackhead living under a bridge that would yell out warnings to passing cars about the inevitable apocalypse brought on by dragons.

Sidenote³: And also because of the pets. They shouldn't have to live with an addicted mother. They'll have self-esteem and trust issues.

 Annnnnnnd tangent is done. For this post at least. Here are some photos of the season:

Can you guess what Lucy was for Halloween?
Can you guess that I enjoy photobombing?

I told Andrew that the wings were much too small for Lucy to be able to fly. He couldn't argue. Or maybe he's just given up arguing with me because it's futile.

Tika cleaning herself while half of her face is drenched, once again, for NO REASON WHATSOEVER.



The boxer dogs of my not-technically-father-in-law-because-someone-won't-put-a-ring-on-it, plus Lucy.

Cocaine?

 

She's like the Megan Fox of dogs, but with talent!

I don't have any final poignant or clever closing statement, so I'll just let you all know that Andrew, who was quietly playing Angry Birds, just called out "cornucopia!" for no reason whatsoever. I swear he doesn't have Turette's.

When Did this Happen?

HOLY FUCK, IT'S FUCKING NOVEMBER!

Sorry for the swearing, Tika is a bit lewd and foul-mouthed. She takes after her mother that way.

Seriously, where did the year go? I just got used to 2012!

8 Things to Do When you Can't Sleep

Apparently, even if you're recuperating from surgery, sleeping all day for a week isn't a good thing. Because when you finally go to bed early due to the fact that you need to get back to work in the morning, your brain will be all "HAHA FUCK YOU, BODY! WE'RE GONNA PARTY ALLLLLLLLLLL NIGHT!"

 

During this temporary bout of insomnia, I found various activities that can keep one occupied.

• Find new and strange sleeping positions. Maybe your body just wants to spice up your REM time. So I diverged from my usual Spiderman/Praying Mantis and tried out the Fetal position, the Starfish, the Log (which turned into a Barrel Roll), the Superman, the Donut and the Tango.
• Read a little.
• Do some yoga. Pull our the yoga mat and everything, go all the way! At the end, when you're supposed to thank your body for everything that it does for you, savour the irony of the moment.
• Wake up your significant other; if you're gonna stay up, you might as well have some company. Don't be surprised if your other half isn't impressed.
• Play with your cats until they work themselves up into a killing frenzy, then watch chaos ensue.
• If your boyfriend/girlfriend was a total dick earlier when you woke them up, feel free to throw the bloodthirsty felines on the bed.

She's clearly pretending the camera strap is Andrew's face.

• Take some painkillers.
• Sidenote: Only take painkillers if you actually have some sort of physical pain, such as wisdom teeth removal.

I'm lactose intolerant, so I just downed the tranquilizers straight.

• Eat some Jell-O. Cause hey, you're awake anyways, why not?
• Regardless of how far away the light is, do not attempt to eat the Jell-O in the dark and in bed. You will end up thinking you're all done your snack, only to lay your head down on your pillow and find your face covered in lost Jell-O.
• Think about possible future blog posts, such as "Things to Do When you Can't Sleep".

Eventually, around 3:30am, I managed to fall asleep by laying on the couch, tricking my jerkbrain into thinking that it was a regular nap.

Quick Post that Turned out to be Long. I Guess Andrew is Right and I Just Can't Shut Up.

Rhonda the Bruise Update:  Nearing the three week anniversary of one of the most stupid thing I've done, the last traces of Rhonda the Bruise are finally fading away.

Since I'm really busy working on a secret project, here's a quick post with pictures and videos from when Tazz (my parents' dog) stayed at our house.

"Yes, I would like to buy the magical
kittens. They smell like rainbows."

Sidenote: this secret project is super exciting for me. Maybe not on the same level as riding a unicorn through a field of singing flowers, but definitely as exciting as rolling around on a plush rug while high on ecstasy and surrounded by kittens. I've never done E, but I assume that being high in that particular setting would be pretty damn wondrous.

Here are the cats once Tazz was locked in our living room. What once was their safe haven became their island of misery. After this picture was taken, Sako hid. We spotted her twice during Tazz' 6-day stay.



Sako: Oh God, what is that? I'm never leaving this perch again.
Tika: Can we eat it?

Tazz was mostly barricated in our living room because she tends to get bored (i.e. astoundingly destructive) very easily. If she was left to roam free, she probably would have eaten kitty litter and found a bunch of my thongs to chew, among other things. (Seriously, she must be a lesbian, because she's a major fan of thongs.)

She also demands constant acknowledgement; if you're not petting her or playing with her, you must be her cushion to sleep on or her brace to hold her bone while she chews it. With the neverending attention-seeking, it's like babysitting Miley Cyrus.

Luckily, Andrew and I were able to take a break when she played with Lucy. And by play, I mean be a total bitch. You would think that being a sixth of Lucy's weight would make her hesitate. Nope. Tazz goes after her like its a UFC match and the winner gets an entire graveyard of bones to chew.

 

Ok, so maybe by "running out of steam", I actually meant
"drugged them with cough syrup."

Notice how Lucy's strategy is to use her size to her advantage; her only moves are swinging her head around like a territorial giraffe and pinning Tazz down with her neck. Tazz, on the other hand, likes to bite at any wobbly bits, such as Lucy's ears and lips. Thank God Lucy is not a "Luke", or there would more sensitive wobbly bits for Tazz to target. Finally, on the last night we had her, both Tazz and Lucy ran out of steam.

 

Although it could be completely draining, I loved having her stay with us. Which means I need a second dog. Obviously.

There's Gotta be an Idiots Anonymous Group that I can Join.

Hi. My name is Christine and I am an idiot.

(Hi Christine.)

It's been 12 hours since I've done something stupid.


Don't be fooled by her cuteness. She will eat your dangly bits for lunch.

(*Awkward silence, followed by a slow clap*)

It all started when I agreed to watch my parent's dog for five days. Her name is Tazz, short for Tasmanian Devil; like the character she was named after, she will eat through anything and leave a trail of destruction everywhere she goes. Things I have found in her mouth this week: leaves, a roll of electrical tape, a used Q-tip, kleenex, receipts, cat toys and one of Andrew's winter glove. She also constantly had to be tied up when put outside, because otherwise she'd just fuck off and run away to do whatever she felt like doing. There's a lot of personality packed into that 10 pound ball of fur. 

It wasn't until the last day of dogsitting that I had my great idea: since Tazz doesn't have very far to run when tied to a post, I thought it would be great if I would tie the rope between the two dogs (since Lucy doesn't run away). And I thought it would be genius if I got them to run by having them chase me.

Do you see what's coming?

After sprinting, I stopped and watched them run by me. I also watched the nylon rope stretched between them get closer and closer to my legs. And then I saw a beautiful blue sky.

Because I was laying flat on my back on my front lawn.

Because I set myself up to get clotheslined by a 60 and 10 lbs dog.

Although it didn't actually hurt at the time, after 24 hours I ended up with this giant bitch of a bruise:

Apologies for the shitty photo quality, but my camera is dead
and I'm too lazy to find more batteries, so I took the photo
with my cell. Also, it's fucking hard to take a picture of the
 back of your own leg.



 

I am now forced to wear leggings under all of my dresses or people will think that Andrew goes after me with a baseball bat when I burn his supper.

 

HA! Like I would ever cook.



10 Hints that you Might be a Hypochondriac

As some readers know, I'm totally a hypochondriac.

Sidenote: I always forget the word, and constantly say kleptomaniac instead. Even though I've never stolen anything in my life. Well, except for a finger puppet from the bloodwork unit at the hospital. They're for the kids, but I deserved one too, Goddamnit.

Anyways, I thought I could use my experience of being paranoid about the state of my own health and that of those around me. So without further ado, here's a list that may help you to identify whether or not you are a hypochondriac.

• A cold is never just a cold. Its probably West Nile Virus. Or Ricin poisoning. The odds of it is like .001%. The chance is still there.
• You know the signs and symptoms of every major illnesses and a few rare ones too. Early warning signs of MS: tingling, numbness, blurred vision, lack of balance.  ... Shit, I have all those symptoms...
• When someone around you is sleeping, you have to periodically make sure they're still breathing. Just in case they suddenly died for no reason whatsoever.  This check might range from watching to see if their chest rises, to throwing things at them to make sure they wake up.
• You constantly ask others to check your vitals, like if your forehead is warm, or your tongue is red. And the bitches never get it right.
• If more than one symptom is showing up at the same time, it definitely means you have some sort of major illness. You have a fever and a bruise? It's Leukemia. You should call your doctor and get that shit checked out.
• You watch medical shows like Mystery Diagnosis that present case studies of rare disorders and diseases. You then check to make sure that you don't have the illness too. Or maybe you just skip the checkup and automatically think to yourself "Oh God, I have that."

• You always seem to have some sort of physical or mental symptom. In fact, you can hardly remember a time when you didn't feel some sort of symptom. Wait, it might have been a Tuesday in February...
• You have a cabinet filled with every single legal drug you can find. You never know when you're going to need Aleve, Benzocain, Pepto Bismol, or Ketoprofen. You might even have shit you don't need, like Claritin and Sudafed when you don't have any allergies whatsoever. But you might suddenly develop allergies. So better safe than sorry.
• WebMD Symptom Checker is bookmarked on your computer. Hell, it might even be your homepage.

• If you just read all of these hints and thought to yourself "Oh my God, I think I have that!", you definitely have hypochondria. Welcome to the club. Membership includes monogramed surgical masks.

I now have to go get reassured by Andrew that I'm not dying of a terminal illness.

Cause After Being Stuck with Each Other for Four Years, We REALLY Need a Vacation

Long post with lots of pictures. Get ready, Bitches, cause this is a marathon!

Here's a little summary of our Four Year Anniversary trip that Andrew and I took.

We'll start off with the fact that rather than taking an hour to get there (the actual time required to get there), it took us two and a half hours. Why, you may ask?

Because even though I gave Andrew a provincial map and a copy of visual and written directions to the lodge, Andrew just assumed he knew the way and winged it.  What should have looked like this...

Ahhh, what a simple and easy journey!

Ended up looking like this.

Where the Fuck are we, Andrew? WE'RE SUPPOSED
TO BE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF GRAND LAKE!

I could elaborate on how our trip could have been corrected multiple times if someone would have simply asked me for directions, but I won't.  Because I would resort to yelling at Andrew. And maybe punch him in the crotch.

Let's just say that our happy times where we sang along with Xavier Rudd were peppered with periods of arguing, followed by long silences (which is difficult to do when Xavier Rudd is playing in the background. Listening to him, you just want to smoke a toke and surf all day. And I don't even smoke, or surf.)

Thank God we weren't listening to country music. Because I would have gotten violent. Like, Naomi Campbell-with-a-cell-phone violent.

When Andrew saw this in the lodge,
he felt at home immediately.

 

So we finally reached the Lodge, where we were greeted by the German owner, who gave us a bright green drink (with alcohol in it, thank God) that he called a Green Lawn. Well, I assume that's the translation of a German drink, because its definitely a horrible-sounding drink in English.

Side note: Google says its a Grüner Rasen. I have no idea how to pronounce that, so I'll just presume that it sounds cool.

So after our drink, we head to our cottage. It was adorable.

I'm pretty sure these beds were 3/4. I
know that encourages cuddling, but at
least a double/full would have been nice

Once we settled in and waited for suppertime, this conversation happened:

Poison, according to Andrew.

Andrew: I feel like they're going to kill us in the middle of the night.   

Me: What?!

Andrew: What if they put something in that lawn drink and poisoned us, or just something to put us to sleep so they could stab us later? 

Me: Why would they kill us? That's horrible for return business.

Apparently, when on vacations, our mental states switch so that Andrew is crazy and dramatically paranoid and I'm the sane one. It was a refreshing experience/ slightly scary to see what I sound like to an average person.

Once he was reassured that no one would die, Andrew proceeded to take a nap. Lucy quickly joined in. I spent my first hour in the cabin mentally alone. (As in, no one was mentally present. Not "the voices in my head finally stopped.")

I eventually woke him up and we headed to the main lodge for dinner.

 It was fabulous. The table setting was all silver, porcelain and crystal. It was not made for people like us.

Although I coached Andrew a little on what fork to use, etc, I really had no idea myself what to use. We pretty much looked like idiots with good taste. Here are pictures of the amazing homemade food.

How do you say fucking delicious in German? Cause this shit was beyond scrumptious.

Apparently in Germany, most restaurants accept dogs and even give them a meal and bowl of water, so we were allowed to brign Lucy in with us. Food tastes so much better when a dog stares at you eating as if you were eating the last meal on Earth.

After supper, we attempted to take a walk through their beautiful trails, but the dog flies were so bad that we ended up going back to the cabin and played card games all night. I won all of the games.

Ok ok, that's a lie. I won one out of five games. But I like to pretend that I won everything.

In the morning, we were once again given a huge, amazing meal.

Is this how Germans eat? Cause if they do, I wouldn't be surprised if they were all morbidly obese. So. Much. Goodness.

 After each gaining five pounds of tastiness, we packed our bags and headed back.

We took the short way home.

Country music played and there was no violence involved.

I Think my Dog has Self-Esteem Issues. As in, It's too High. WWCMD (What Would Cesar Milan Do?)



Andrew and I are celebrating our four year anniverasy this weekend (even though our anniversary was last week) by renting out a log cabin for a mini-weekend, aka one-night-because-that's-all-we-can afford-but-we-can-still-make-it-sound-fancy. The package includes a welcome drink at the main lodge (Andrew wants to try a Grasshopper a la Raj from Big Bang Theory), a three course fine dining meal that we will probably ruin by slurping our soup and using the wrong fork, and a free breakfat that will most likely be too meager for Andrew's Magical Bottomless Stomach.



OMG, HE LOOKED AT ME! I WANT TO RAPE YOU AND
HAVE YOUR BABIES! ITS WRONG, BUT I DON'T CARE!

Regardless of these potential problems, I am super excited. Like, 12-year old girl at a One Direction concert with front row seats excited. This is the first vacation we will take just the two of us since our first year together when we drove to a nearby province to stay at my friend's house for a weekend.

Because we are so unhealthily attached to Lucy that we can't even leave her at Andrew's parents for the night, we are taking her with us.

This means having to buy a carrier to transport her during the trip, since sitting inside a car doesn't work so well. So I invested way more money than I ever anticipated on an extra large dog carrier.

Sidenote: I had previously bought a large-sized dog crate for Lucy, seeing as it was advertised as being compatible for 40-70lbs dogs. However, it turns out that though Lucy may only weigh 50lbs, its all muscle and bone, so she's much bigger than the weight suggests. That, or dog crate companies are assholes that enjoy messing with their customers.

Sidesidenote: why is the abbreviation for pounds lbs? For years as a kid, I had no idea that it was even an abbreviation, so I just pronounced it as luh-bissss. No wonder I never skipped a grade.

Pretty sure there's lazy eye going on in this picture.

So after emptying my wallet, spending a total of 15 minutes getting the carrier in and out of the back seat of my small Oldsmobile,  I brought it to my living room and assembled it. Turns out, I should have had the cats in mind, because they've claimed the giant plastic cave.

Funniest/saddest thing ever. Sako tried to get in the carrier from
the wrong side of the door, got her head stuck for a few seconds,
then panicked and ran away.

 

Lucy finally figured out that it was for her.

We head out tomorrow morning, so I probably won't be posting anything else this for the next couple of days. Everyone enjoy your weekend!