My Living History

I cannot wait until the day when I move into a house and know that I’m going to live there for more than two years. That day will truly be glorious. I’ve practically been a nomad since I moved out of my parents’ house back in the fall of 1999. The longest I’ve stayed at one address has been two years. Yikes!

First semester freshman year I lived at GSP/Corbin. Everyone needs a residence hall experience. Sophomore year, I moved into the Tri Delt house. Each semester we’d change rooms, so that entailed moving out each Christmas and summer and back home for the break. Junior year was also Tri Delt. After junior year, I stayed in Lawrence that summer to work and take summer classes. Then I moved into my first official apartment with Julie. I stayed there a year, then moved into L16 at CW for almost two. Then here, my favorite apartment yet, for one year and 10 months. Now, it’ll be off to California for two years. Sigh.

The sunny side of this is being able to take an inventory of all of the stuff I’ve accumulated over time and getting rid of JUNK. I’ve started the long process of cleaning, purging and packing, as evidenced by the stack in our office. On the right, packed boxes. On the left, empty boxes yet to be filled.

Corky the Yorky

Anyone who has ever lost a dog knows how truly devastating it can be. The most faithful companions, they greet you with a smile every time you walk in the door, give you kisses to make you feel better, and even know how to cheer you up when you’re down in the dumps. Their sole job in life is to love you, and there is nothing they’d rather do than follow you around at your feet or curl up next to you on the couch. It’s no wonder then, that when they die, you truly feel as though you’ve lost your best friend.

Corky, my grandma’s Yorkshire Terrier, died this morning after a long, full life at 17 years old. It’s been sad knowing that her time was drawing to an end, and it’s hit me hard and no wonder: Corky has been around since before I was in 5th grade. My grandparents got her in 1990, and she’s been a part of the family ever since. I remember my mom called me a couple of years ago, saying that Corky had to be put down. I started crying as I was driving in the car. All for nothing: Come to find out, the Corkster got a cortisone shot and was hanging in there again. Turns out she had a few more years in her after all.

I remember her jingling collar, the slippers she was allowed to chew up and how my grandpa used to put her in the pocket of his coat with her head sticking out. I remember the hilarious story of how once there was a mouse in the laundry room and my grandma left for work, telling Corky to make sure not to let it out. Sure enough, Corky obeyed, as she always did. When my grandma got home from work, Corky had captured and destroyed the mouse. When my grandma would go out of town, we would watch her. I know that Corky the Condo girl just didn’t understand the heathens at the Chapman household. So noisy. No sidewalks. As if!

Marti, in her early puppyhood, got to meet Corky. Although she couldn’t see or hear very well, Corky definitely knew Marti was there saying hello. Either that or she knew she was in the midst of a tornado and was just waiting for it to pass.

I’ve lost pets in the past, and it is always difficult. But now, having Marti as our own little dog, and my companion as Alan works long nights, I can truly understand the friendship they provide. You can’t easily move on after nearly two decades of friendship. Thankfully, in those many, many years, our little beloved furry friends give us many, many memories to look back on.

I'm the saddest pug ever, and my name is Lampshade

Poor little Martikins. Her allergy demons have struck again, and she's been licking and biting at her itchy little belly to the point where it's quite sore (it looks really sore anyways). Trying to protect her from herself, Alan and I went out to the pet store to buy her one of those crazy looking collars.

We put it on her last night, after a long struggle, and she did not know what to think or do; she was just plain scared. It's only slightly funny, and mostly just sad, because although we followed all the rules we read in dog books from the get-go, Marti has always been a fraidy-dog. She hears loud noises and jumps, the wind blows and she startles. We put on her little lampshade and she stood there. Unmoving. Then took a few tentative steps and stopped moving. I could see her thinking, "Why is this following me? Maybe if I stand perfectly still I can escape."

This morning though, I learned the meaning of "tough love" because while I know it's best for Marti, this collar has been very tough on both of us. She's visibly sad and can't do any of her normal activities properly. See, three visible toys, and one unhappy Marti:




She refused to go to the bathroom this morning, but as soon as I took the helmet off, she went straight away. I managed to get her hat back on by myself, and then removed it again thinking she'd be fine, only to have her attack her stomach with unflagging fervor. Sadly, the helmet is a necessity until her new drugs kick in and she allows herself to heal.

Reaching New Heights

There are many cliches I could have used as my title, but I had to narrow it down. I made it through day two in my new position on my new magazine. Yesterday I met with the editorial director at her house to get me acquainted with how everything works. Then today I was on my own, trying to figure out the quirks of posting content on the web. So far so good. The worst part of any job is the learning curve, and it's always nice to get to the point where you feel comfortable and like you have some sort of idea what you're doing. I'm definitely in the learning stages, but I like it so far and soon I'll be an expert on lifting equipment!

Working in a home office is quite different than working in an actual office building. First of all, my desk needs some serious rearranging and cleaning. Nobody's around to impress, so we don't try to keep it clean. We'll be in moving mode here pretty quickly, so I anticipate it'll be messy until we get settled in California. My coworkers are a totally different species and kiss me all day long:



Another difference: You end up working more than necessary. I think I'm still in the early stages of proving myself, of course, but I feel like I need to tell someone what time I was in, that I worked through lunch, only took breaks to take Marti out, and worked an extra hour in the day. (As I write this, my assistant pug is sitting on my lap, with her chin resting on my hands)

My view is also quite different. This is what I look at as I sit at my computer:

The End of an Era

Since I've kept everyone up to date on the major (ok, and not-so-major) events of the past few months, I would be remiss not to blog about my last day of work. My last Lawrence to OP commute, my final torturous journey up the stairs to the fourth floor, my final timesheet to turn in. Even though I'm more than ready to move on (mostly because my replacement has been on the job for a long while), I'm still nostalgic and strangely sentimental about this place where I've spent 37.5 hours a week and all the crazy people that I've come to know or know of along the way.

I will miss:
The RER team. They've been great to work with and make work more fun. I know I'll keep in touch for years to come. I'll have to call Brandey now to recap The Bachelor.

Jenn! Of course. No more stream of consciousness chats during the ride to and fro; no more early morning water breaks. No one to force me to take the stairs...or agree that we're just too tired to do it. No more "married couple" lunches, where we sit and read magazines in the cafeteria. No more trips to QT. I know the friendship will last forever (Breaking into song: "And friends are friends forever...."), but it is sad to see our day to day work fun come to an end.

Jack Stack. Sigh. It's so close we can smell it from work. We're going there today in fact to send me off in KC style. I will also miss Noodles & Co. and Maui Express.

I will even miss the folks who just give me good things to rant about, and of course, I'll miss coming up with nicknames for them: Swiss Miss, Crazy 1, Crazy 2, Little Wrists, Australia, Rad, Jr, Kia, JC, the printer nazi, Eggs & Veggies, Nerd Herd, Stoup, SSS, Violent Cougher.

But the end doesn't come without its "will not miss list."

I will not miss:
The commute, the aheming and incessant throat clearing, hearing the name "Ashok," the loud talking, the violent coughing, getting run into with no apologies, the awkward phone goodbyes and conversations, the smelly bathroom.

Fairwell, old job, fairwell.

Job: Check!

The tide had to change and alas, it finally did. I’ll get the big news out of the way right here. If you didn’t deduce it from the headline, I got a job!

As I mentioned previously, I was contacted back in February about an editing position for another equipment magazine that would have allowed me to work from home. But by the time I responded, they had already filled the position. Luck turned back in my direction when they called me again about a month later, saying that they were again in the market for an editor because the person they had previously hired had taken another job. Two interviews and an article later, they called me to hire me on as their new associate editor.

Needless to say, I’m quite relieved and very excited to have a job, especially one that so perfectly fits me. It includes a lot of what I do now, writing, editing, proofing, with some added responsibility and production duties. Add in the fact that my 50-minute commute just went down to a 10-second walk to the other room, and that I won’t have to go jobless for a month or more, AND that we won’t have to worry about only having one vehicle, AND that we won’t have to figure out insurance, AND that Martikins will get to be my assistant pug, and I’ll just say that this is a huge blessing. Thanks for all the prayers sent my way—I know there were quite a few!

Spring Fever

I got my spring sore throat/cold on Friday, which rendered me useless much of the weekend. Sometimes it’s kind of nice to be sick and be forced to take a break—minus the stuffy head and runny nose. I think the stress of life finally caught up to me and my body could fend off disease no longer. I stayed home sick on Monday as well, which is why I think I’m feeling so much better today.

I noticed over the weekend that Marti’s stomach had a sore spot on it that she’d rubbed raw, so I decided to get her to the vet while I had the day at home. I described the symptoms to the vet: sore stomach, scratching at ears until red, hunger strikes, vomiting after hunger strikes, the usual. After examining Marti and hammering me with questions, the vet informs me that he thinks I have an “allergic dog.” I had already diagnosed Marti with food allergies, which is why we switched her to duck and potato food. The vet informs me that it’s possible that Marti has both food and inhalant allergies, so with the spring pollen and allergens being high, that’s probably what’s causing her problems.

Thirty minutes and $130 later, we’ve got a whole arsenal of medicine to combat Marti’s health woes. Her new slogan is going be “Marti: The best preparation for child-rearing money could buy.”



From left: Relief, a prescription colloidal oatmeal shampoo; an antibiotic to combat Marti's secondary skin infection on her tummy; Benadryl, aka "Bennies"; ear drops to cure her ear itch; my leg. Not pictured: Pepcid AC, which she can take when she's on hunger strikes.

And for those of you concerned, I've tricked her into walking again, until she outsmarts me. Since she loves pinecones, I keep a stash of pine cones on the rail outside our apartment and grab one when we leave. When she stops walking, I tempt her with a pinecone.

And, on a non-Marti note, I finally handed my boss my resignation today. My official last day at work will be April 27. On to the next!