I'm a Mom...

I am a dog person, it’s true. My family has always had dogs, and I have no problem admitting my soft spot for canines (See photo of bichon frise, the kind of dog I will most likey get eventually. Truth be told I'd rather have a Boxer, as they are larger and more athletic, but for now something small and snuggly is more conducive to my lifestyle...anyway). People have asked me “Why not cats? They are just as cute and fluffy as dogs, easier to take care of, and better to have in small spaces.” All these facts are true, cats are cute, sometimes even adorable, they are a low-maintenance pet, and they ARE better for apartment dwelling, much as I am doing now.

Here’s the thing… cats are moody, they’ve got attitude (see photo. There's not room enough in this house for an attitude like that and my own). I figure I have enough trouble with my relationships with human beings. If I am going to have a pet, I want unconditional love. Dogs will give you unconditional love, and that’s what I am looking for in a pet.

So recently, for whatever reason, I have been really wanting to get a dog. For those of you who don’t know, I currently have three wonderful roommates. I have a personal belief that a person should never subject others to living with animals, because sometimes living with an indoor pet (a necessity in our neighborhood) is not the most pleasant thing in the world. So clearly, given the facts that our lease expressly forbids indoor pets, and that I will not subject my roommates to my canine cravings, I was not going to be able to act on my sudden urge to get a dog.

While not a dog, I have purchased a pet, and I would like to take the opportunity to introduce him officially on my blog. His name is Moshi. Moshi is a cobalt blue beta fish that has taken up residence in a fish shaped bowl in my room. Moshi is short for Moshi-ida, which, in Korean, means to be stylish or handsome. Moshi is both of these, so the name is fitting.

I understand, fish are not affectionate, they are not necessarily the best conveyers of that unconditional love I was talking about earlier. A fish will not cuddle up with you at the end of a long day, or get excited when you come home from work. You cannot walk a fish, it will not accompany you on a springtime jog…but what can you do? Moshi is there when I get home, he does flair his tail when I feed him, and somehow I find something very fulfilling about keeping something else alive. Call it maternal instinct.

So now I am the proud mother of a fish named Moshi. He seems to be quite enjoying his new surroundings (a serious upgrade from the cup he was living in at the pet store). I have finally gotten over the anxiety of him making a kamikaze leap out of his bowl—my cousin had an ill-fated beta fish who made several suicide attempts during bowl cleanings, one of them nearly ending in tragedy due to an over-excited roommate and a fork—and have grown very fond of him swimming contentedly around his bowl, nipping food off the surface of the water, and hiding behind his plant.

So, things seem to be going…well…swimmingly, if you’ll forgive the pun. Aside from the fact that Jane seems to be quite jealous of Moshi—she claims that she has been replaced by the fish, as she was on vacation in Hawaii when he took up residence in my room—he seems to be well received by the rest of the roommates, and I am rather enjoying having a pet again.

Identifying Doug...

For those of you who read the last post, you might remember Doug, my long term, hacking, choking cough. Well, I finally broke down today and went to the doctor (after having completely lost my voice for the last two days). I did not want to go to the doctor, and I should point out that I haven't had a primary health care provider since I quit seeing my pediatrician when I was like 11, which, incidentally, was probably the last time I was sick enough to see a doctor, with the exception of a couple of bouts of strep throat in college that required a jaunt to the University's urgent care center...anyway, I digress.

The point is after two hours in a VERY depressing waiting room with no reading material except parenting magazines written by people who, from the tone of their articles, seem like they have maybe seen a child before...maybe, and another 30 minutes in a rather cold examination room sitting on that really awkward table with the butcher paper on it with only slightly more intriguing reading material--the March 2008 issue of Star Magazine (apparently Brad and Angie really are tying the knot this time!)--AND a 10 minute poking and prodding by what appeared to be a licensed health care professional named Greta, Doug and I have been diagnosed.

As it turns out, I have what appears to be Viral Bronchitis, with the option to upgrade to Pneumonia (lucky me). So, I am currently on antibiotics and some crazy cough pills that are sure to make me expel Doug and all his little minions that have taken up lodging in my respiratory tract. While I have to say I am thankful to have the illness that has been plaguing every waking moment of my existence diagnosed and prescribed to a treatment program, I was reminded today of why I hate going to the Doctor; lots of waiting, lots of sick people, and lots of time to sit and think about the things I could be doing rather than sitting around waiting for hours on end for someone to come in and tell me what I already suspected and then write me a note saying I can purchase outrageously overpriced prescription medication. Oh well, I shouldn't complain, things should start looking up, and I do have to say Greta was one of the nicest health care professionals I have had the pleasure (?) of encountering in my experiences as an ill person.

In sum, I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm not actually dying of death, just viral bronchitis. Thanks so much to everyone who's been concerned for my welfare and offered to help me out while I've been sick, I really appreciate it! You are all too kind.

Death Bed Repentance...

Well, on Monday I came down with my second bout of the killer flu that has been plaguing the nation. I got sick with it the first time about a month ago over President's Day weekend. The flu itself really only lasted two or three days. The cough, on the other hand, has been hanging around since then. I felt fine after the fever and aches subsided, but the cough would not let go. My friend Jane and I decided to name it (my cough) Doug. We thought it was a suitable name for a houseguest that shows up un-invited and then overstays his welcome. No offense to any Dougs out there. Truth be told, it was really just personification for personification's sake, and I figured it would turn my semi-obnoxious and kind of gross hacking cough into a rather funny conversation piece...whatever.

So, the point is, the flu is back with a vengeance and I have been flat on my back since Tuesday afternoon. Needless to say, between the naps and the hours of mind-numbing daytime TV, I've had a lot of time to think about things. One of the things I have been thinking about is this blog. I realize I have been delinquent in my posts, and my near death (from boredom?) experience has helped me recommit myself to keeping everyone up to date on the details of my scintillating (?!?) life.

In the spirit of that, the most exciting thing that has happened is that I ventured out of the house today to get a haircut (see poor cell phone pic of my new haircut). Despite my near-death status, I showered and doped myself up sufficiently to go out among the living, mostly because my stylist is in high demand and I make my appointments 8 weeks out, AND it probably would have taken me nearly that long to reschedule it. Seriously, the things women do.

Turns out it was a good move. Amazing what a shower and a little lip gloss will do for a girl's mood. Not to mention the fact that I'm pretty sure the guy who cuts my hair passed his "Psychiatry for Hairstylists" class with flying colors because I always walk out of that place feeling like a million bucks. Nice Work Remy.

So, with that, from now on I promise to post regularly and keep you all up to date on what's been going on with me. Nothing like a little Death Bed Repentance to wake a girl up!