The other day my friend Dori posted a recipe for chorizo and kale soup on Facebook. I looked at the ingredients and was like, “Yes. Yes. Um, yes. Oh hell yes.”
Tonight when I went to the grocery store, I looked for the meat but couldn’t find it, so I eventually went to the meat guy and asked where he kept his linguiça. (No, I didn’t really ask like that! I learned my lesson about crafting one’s requests of the grocer.) He stopped what he was doing, walked out from the behind the meat counter and down the aisle to show me, so then when I remembered I was actually supposed to be getting chorizo, not linguiça, I was too embarrassed to go back and ask again. Didn’t matter didn’t matter SO DIDN’T MATTER ONE BIT.
Linguiça and kale soup!!
Nom nom f-bomb.
You guys, make it. Make this çoup. I’m pretty sure this çoup is one of the reasons why we’re here on this earth.
If my two get a walk three days in a row, we can often skip the fourth. Not so with ‘Nita. That’s the difference between 4 to 6 years old and under 2 years old.
Day 2
I once again guilt myself into leaving her loose in the spare bedroom for the hour I’ll be at the gym. She yanks down the curtain and rod while I’m gone.
Day 3
My dogs are in; ‘Nita’s out. Like the nun in Madeline, I get a feeling that something is not right. I go out to investigate, and ‘Nita’s not in the yard. I run back inside, equip myself, and go scouting.
Day 4
‘Nita trots outside at 6:00am and goes batshit about a person walking by. I try to teach her about inside vs. outside voice etiquette.
I’m not sure I got through to her.
After the long neighborhood loop, I put Violet inside, keep ‘Nita on the leash, and let Redford loose. My boy does five goofy laps around the shed (‘Nita’s dying to join him) and then stands on the porch. I stalk around the yard with ‘Nita, encouraging Redford to come closer. He’s not interested.
I put him inside and let Violet out, but she won’t come within 20 feet of me and ‘Nita.
I tether ‘Nita to the fence, put Violet on the leash and attempt to do some walk-bys. Violet’s OK on the first couple but tenses up pretty quick. The fur on the top of her butt stands on end, and she keeps looking askance at ‘Nita.
I switch out Redford for Violet, and he does great! Walks by about six times and then stands near her while I pet both of them.
Progress!
A little bit of progress.
Day 5
While we’re on our walk, I pledge to do more walk-bys once we get home. Instead, I sit on the couch and watch about ten episodes of 30 Rock. Side note: I am Liz Lemon.
‘Nita makes the masks of the theatre. She’s so dramatic.
Day 6
More walk-bys after our walk! Redford’s fine but uninterested. Violet plants herself and won’t go near. Sigh.
‘Nita and I head to Cary for her photoshoot… It does not go well because SQUIRRELS and DUCKS and BICYCLLLLLLLLLLLLES. She’s pretty much bananas the whole time and nearly tears my arms out of their sockets. The photographer gets a few good shots though.
Note the sure-we-can-call-it-a-hug-if-you-want to keep her from taking down an innocent cyclist.
Day 7
Up to this point, ‘Nita has still resisted the crate. Not as vehemently as before, but when I tell her to get in, she’ll jump on the couch and wag wag wag and slither toward one end, like if she didn’t Cute me into forgetting what I was doing, maybe she could make herself slip through the couch cushions and hide. It’s pretty adorable, actually, so I decided to videotape it… but then!
I will admit, I am one of those people that says “Feb-roo-ary” and flinches an eensy bit when people say “Feb-you-ary”. I know that makes me an asshole because EVERYBODY says “Feb-you-ary”, just like everybody says “laying down” when they mean “lying down”.
[“Lay” requires a direct object. You can lay your keys down on the counter or lay your baby in a crib or even lay your body down, but when you head to the couch to take a nap, you’re actually going to lie down. Even more confusing, the past tense of “lie” is “lay”. (The past tense of “lay” is “laid”.) So you can say, “I lay down for a nap”, but that would mean you did it before right now. I KNOW. I’M AN ASSHOLE.]
I further know it’s only a matter of time before we reach the tipping point and the Grammar Mavens say, “Well, language evolves, and now ‘Feb-you-ary’ and ‘laying down’ are considered correct.” But that day has not yet come, so if you notice that I have a tiny facial tic this month, there you go.
You can blame my parents for the above (see my dad’s comment on this post from three years ago, which also explains why I use quotation marks the way I do).
Two years ago, I shared with you my magical pit-stank cure. Still using it. Still giving myself Alzheimer’s. But the ‘heimer’s hasn’t hit yet! Still sharp as a marble! Now where in the world did I lie my keys? I’m confused—I need to go lay down.
I “competed” in an Olympic weightlifting meeta year ago. I hit 79.2 lbs on the snatch and 107.8 on the clean & jerk. I’m proud to say that my clean & jerk is now 128 pounds, and I snatch 103. That’s right: I have a 103-lb snatch.
