Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Oh crap


Mid-make-out earlier this week, my foot roused a sleeping pig and his mouth frightfully lunged at its fleshiest part. I shouted my empty wish to get rid of the dogs, regretting it the second my childish mouth closed. He barely broke the skin, but the reminder of this little incident was ironically still visible when karma paid me a visit last night in the form of diabolical diarrhea from our five year old Jack Russel. A solo midnight trip to the emergency vet reaffirmed that he probably just ate something he shouldn't have... but your welcome for the $300 bill just to tell me that!!

The good news is that he has medication and will likely recover; it is snowing gloriously hard (with tiny flakes for longevity too!); I am about to bake some yummies for my Sweep's return later this morning.

Even crap can't crap on my parade.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

There is a languor of the life

Sweep left early this morning to take his parents home following their short visit in NYC.

I miss him painfully and teared up when we hugged goodbye. I am by now embarrassingly aware that most couples are lucky to tolerate their partner, much less yearn for them as earnestly as we do. We are not normal but oh do we feel lucky! I digress. This love of my life pleaded that I relax on my day off; no blackberry, errands, annoying phone calls... Not one to disobey, my blissful day has unfurled as such:
warm tea
obnoxiously long bath, accompanied by the latest issue of New York Mag (Platt's where to eat in 09!!)
house hunting online, despite the rational side of me that contests that we are too poor to buy a pot to p... you know how it goes!
listened to the feasts of culinary heavy-weight Ina Garten on food network
cat nap with my pigs (they are the warmest softest pillows to hug!)
walked the pigs at sunset, lord is it beautiful and make me resent the fact that I miss it daily, confined in my office
Now I'm thinking about dinner and what I'll make for our NYE game night tomorrow. Craving mushroom tarts I was horrified that my virtual cooking bible SmittenKitchen did not have a suitable recipe so I'll have to wing it. Off to the store momentarily.
P.s. I'm definitely a morning person as evidenced by my mental deterioration over the course of the day.

Anyway, back to the parents. Normally tongue-tied, red-faced, and dreadfully shy when on the spot, I dreaded the arrival of Sweeps' parents... Luckily I was bolstered by some sort of co-habitational propriety pride and the visit went better than I ever expected... more pleasant than my own family visits come to think of it! I guess that's because though you shouldn't, it is more generally acceptable to tell your own mother that while you thank her very much for the lovely visit, she should mind her own business about how you are raising your dogs because among other reasons which include how happy you finally are and how little she knows of the circumstances, she has ahem never actually owned a dog.

Thanks to my newly purchased (Housing Works Book Cafe) copy of Emily Dickinson poems for the title of today's post.