And this:

And so on until their relationship morphed into the greatest love story ever told and/or an Odd Couple-esque situation in which both members of said odd couple are Oscar because they are both behaving like pigs and peeing on the welcome mat and leaving crumbs of food around and knocking things over. Scooter does have a rather fancy little walk, so maybe he’s a little bit Felix-y, but mostly they are gross and therefore Oscar, but they are also in love, which means they need a celebrity couple name like “Bennifer” or “TomKat”. I vote for Tallooter, but Scallulah is a close second.

While Scooter was with us, the majority of our time was spent trying to achieve a “double pet”, which is when Darling Boyfriend or I manage to pet Scooter with one hand and Tallulah with the other for long enough to shout “DOUBLE PET” and give the person who had not achieved double pet time to run into the room, also shouting “DOUBLE PET?!?” Double pet would inevitably end when Darling Boyfriend or I would fly too close to the sun and attempt to achieve double double pet, which only exists in dreams and in which both Darling boyfriend and I are petting both Scooter and Tallulah and shouting “DOUBLE PET”. Whenever double double pet was attempted, Tallulah would always become overwhelmed and run away, because he does not want me to ever be truly happy.

Other activities that we participated in whilst babysitting Scooter included:

- Taking Scooter to the groomer to make him all fancy

-  Going to the vet after Scooter hurt himself by jumping from the floor to the bed, an accomplishment that would previously have been thought to require A.) Scooter learning to fly or B.) A bird getting into the apartment, lifting Scooter with his beak and placing him on the bed and then leaving the apartment again.

- Kissing Scooter on his widdle head.

Now is the part of the blog where I acknowledge that I have not written a word for months, but I’ll try to do some kind of “Here’s the Wacky Stuff that Happened in 2011″ post before I start school again.

Love,

Sarah

Me: So, I was trampled by a panicked mob today during an earthquake.
Darling Sister: Yeah, that’s cause weird sh*t happens to you all the time.

As you can see, Readers who are Certainly Intrigued, I was totally trampled by a panicked mob yesterday as a direct result of being the kind of person to whom weird sh*t happens all the time. Not only was I trampled by a panicked mob, I was trampled by a panicked mob of soon-to-be social workers. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

(This is a photo of Tallulah looking shocked, and is therefore relevant.)

Are you not one of the 85 bajillion people who talked to weeping-like-a-baby-me yesterday and would like to hear the whole story? Okay, I will tell you even though I am quite traumatized.

I was in the student union building at my university yesterday afternoon, and all of the first year MSW students were sitting around in groups at our orientation getting to know our advisors and asking questions (they were not really questions but were actually excuses to talk about how benevolent we had been towards those less fortunate than ourselves, but that is less important to my point) when, all of a sudden, Disaster Struck.

(This is also relevant, because Tallulah is about to cause an avalanche, which is a disaster)

The walls began to shake. We were in a room that was gymnasium sized with, like, giant metal things all over the walls and ceilings and it was really echoey and super loud and basically the Most Terrifying Room on Earth Oh God it was Horrible. Everyone started screaming. Then they started running while screaming. And while I was running and screaming someone behind me was running faster and screaming louder and I found myself smashed nose first into the ground under a pile of people who have committed themselves to the helping profession. The walls were still shaking and I was still firmly inclined to run run awaaay so I crawled out from under that mass of dismayed caregivers and dragged myself under a table, all the while thinking “I am going to have a broken nose and then die in a building full of strangers who are on a trampling spree and I don’t even think I wrote my adviser’s email address down correctly”. My shoes came off and I was basically just dazed and terrified, but the shaking stopped and I was alive alive aliiiiiiiiiive!

Picture me, Alarmed Readers, emerging from beneath the registration table where the pens advertising support groups for people whose spouses have Alzheimer’s and the new student questionnaires are. I am weeping a little while bleeding from the face. I am also not wearing any shoes, and I have large blue bruises forming on my arms and legs and my hand is scrapey and I am genuinely displeased. People look around and suddenly realize that someone has most certainly been Trampled and Probably Needs a Hug from a Stranger. I accepted these hugs while trying nonchalantly to see if I could tell from my reflection in the spectacles of my classmates whether my nose was permanently disfigured. While people patted me and asked “are you alright” with their best “I am a caring person who would never ever trample you” faces, I nodded, biting my tongue and attempting not to shake them all while yelling “WHAT THE F*CK JUST HAPPENED AND DO I STILL LOOK PRETTY IN MY FAAAAAAACE?!?!?”

I will now show you what my nose looked like an hour or two after I was trampled by a mob:

Note that my nose is red and approximately 3 feet and 4 inches wider than usual. Also note that I look very sad because of how I had recently been trampled. Then I felt even more sad when I arrived in my apartment (after sitting outside for 30 minutes terrified to go upstairs) and Tallulah was creeping around all low to the ground and close to the wall and meowing meowing meowing. Here is a picture of not that:

So that, Readers who would never step on my face, is the story of my Epic Trampling. I have officially stopped weeping, thanks to chats with darling friends and parents, cuddles from darling boyfriend, and especially a brilliant vodka/pineapple juice/dinner/giggles combo from darling Emily. And the swelling in my nose has gone down quite a bit, look!:

I have another orientation tomorrow, but the hurricane is not supposed to hit the area until later in the weekend, so I expect to get out of this one with more knowledge and fewer lacerations. And because I love you all and value your lives, I will end this post not only with a picture of a delicious kitty loaf, but also a link to the FEMA web page: What to Do During an Earthquake.

Love,

Sarah

Beloved Readers, I’ve neglected you and I am sorry. I would like to send a special “thank you for your patience” to the 3 of you who (wordpress tells me) continue to check in every single day to see if there is a new post. Whoever you are, you’re my favorite and I shall dance at your weddings.

I’ve got a lot of photos of my cat stored up, and a lot of posts started, but this first one is going to be about kitty and my Adventures in Moving!

That’s right! We’re packin’ our bags! We’re leavin’ our troubles behind! We’re gettin’ out of dodge! We are listenin’ to sweet sweet Billy Joel tunes! We’re droppin’ the letter “g” off of the ends of our words CAUSE WE ARE CHANGIN’ IT UP!

We are moving in with Darling Boyfriend until October, at which time we will all move again into a better apartment that has elevators that smell nice and less of a need for so many police all about. But until then, here are some of the fun new things that are making kitty happy every day:

1. New friends.

Olive comes to visit our apartment fairly often and is Tallulah’s best friend, they just do not get along very well because Olive shows her best friends how much she loves them by maybe trying to eat them a little.

2. New shoes.

These don’t really have anything to do with the move, but he looks pretty snazzy, eh?

3. New beams.

This photo made me realize that Lou’s markings in his bathing suit area look like a heart sometimes, which is cute.

4. New hiding places.

That’s right, envious readers, THERE IS A DISHWASHER UP IN HERE!

As you can see, Readers Who Have Been Pining Away for Pictures of My Cat, kitty basically is running around this apartment making everything belong to him and generally not giving a $%&*, and it is pretty darn delightful. I have been documenting our adventures in Moving, Quitting my Job, Getting in to Grad School and Various Equally Exciting Activities, but it is the middle of the night now so I might just go to bed. Rest assured that there are more posts to come in the very near future and I will never abandon you again (unless I get really busy again, at which time I will not hesitate to abandon you again). Goodnight!

Love,

Sarah

He knows when I’m simply too too tired to hang the laundry up in the closet, and because he is a giving and selfless soul, he makes the laundry into a fort so that I cannot in good conscience take it away from him.

But no, awed readers, he does not stop there! He sees that after a long day of work I become slightly overwhelmed by my new-hire forms that need to be filled out.  Kitty to the rescue!

Finally, kitty saw that I was just running around too much, trying to get too much done too fast.  He devised a thoughtful plan to slow me down:

Kitty tripped me, and sent me flying into the vacuum cleaner.  Not only did this make my toe all big and purple and difficult to walk on, but it made me too mad at the vacuum cleaner to even THINK about vacuuming for the foreseeable future.  Bravo, genius kitty, bravo.

Alas, my paperwork is now really really due, and if I don’t fill it out tonight then I won’t get my dental insurance, and I would like very much to have dental insurance.  So if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rescue my pen.

Love,

Sarah

Supportive readers, guess what?! Okay, I will tell you because I cannot wait for you to guess. I got a new job! A new freaking job! Can you imagine?! Also, my new job is perfect, and I want want wanted it so much that I became distressed every time I said “Maybe I won’t get it” and then I would eat a cookie to comfort myself in the face of my imaginary loss.

I had to go to about a bajillion* interviews, and how can one go to a bajillion* interviews without Incredibly Grown Up Outfits? One cannot, that is how.  So I went shopping with Lisa at one of those stores where everything is cheap cheap cheap and it makes me feel like although I may in fact already own that shirt over there I might as well buy that shirt over there just in case I do not already own it because it is oh so very cheap.  But, alarmed readers, disaster struck.

This store I was at? The one where everything is all cheap cheap cheap? Well, I am usually a certain Acceptable Size there and that size that I am does not make me feel upset, but this time it is possible that my comforting cookies and my reward cookies and my “my life is super awesome right now” cookies may have pushed me into a size that says “Sarah Elizabeth” (which is what I call myself when I am angry), “It is possible that you may have consumed too many cookies”.

(Kitty also occasionally has trouble finding pants)

I commenced whining to Lisa about how small pants seem to have gotten. But Lisa, because she is awesome, was like “Whatever, you’re too happy to be skinny right now, let’s go eat those doughnutty things at Coastal Flats.”

So, Readers Who are Just the Right Size, I have been thinking about it and my cookie butt (which is what I am calling my butt now. It’s cuter that way) is really not that bad for the following reasons:

1. It prevented me from spending a bunch of money on clothes, therefore making funds more available to purchase doughnutty things.
2. It is evidence of my “Too happy and busy and important to worry about whether or not I am going to put this cookie in my face” lifestyle, which sounds pretty fun, right? Riiiight?!
3. It is not permanent. Cookie butt will hopefully be greatly reduced when I start to walk instead of drive everywhere. Because my new job is a 30 minute walk from my house hooray!
4. It is probably a comfort to Lou to know that he is not the only one in the apartment who could use a bit of a diet/treadmill combo.
5. It forced me to find my Most Grown-Up Dress Ever, which I like very much and had kind of forgotten about but was probably the reason I was offered the job.  I imagine they saw me in it and were all “That woman is clearly a Capable Business Lady and we should Hire Her Immediately.”

So in conclusion, it is probably best that I am a teeny bit bigger than I would really like to be at the moment, because it is basically the reason that I got my dream job AND is keeping the cat from becoming incredibly depressed.

I am quite pleased with this blog post.  I think this blog post deserves a teeny tiny** celebration cookie, right? Right.

Love,

Sarah

*two
**medium big

Readers-who-check-yourselves-before-you-wreck-yourselves, I spent 3.5 hours in my car yesterday driving home from work.  This trip usually takes 45 minutes, but it took 3.5 hours.  I had to pee after about 1.5 hours.  I began to cry like a baby after about 2.5 hours.  When I finally got near my apartment, my car began to slide backwards down the hill.  So, because I am an awesome driver, I backed (careened) into a nearby parking space and ran ran away.  But it was all worth it because today, Readers-wh0-most-certainly-are-impressed-that-I-am still-alive, I got to work from home!

And of course, by “work from home” I mean “do the absolute essentials and then do whatever I want because I am freeeeeeeeee!”

Obviously the day started with a nap.  Or at least it was supposed to start with a nap, but somebody demanded about an hour of bellyrubs instead.

Then I did a bunch of work, which is stupid and lame and stupid.  Then I had to leave the house because I needed navy blue tights for a secret thing that will remain secret until it maybe won’t be a secret anymore maybe later.  But first, I met Andrew for some coffee next to the tights store and he unfortunately was not wearing this hat:

Shopping for tights after coffee was kind of horrible.  Target only had bright purple tights, and Marshalls and Payless had only hooker-y fishnet tights, which are not really my scene.  It was, however, a pretty epic triumph.  Usually, when I go shopping for a specific thing and cannot find that thing I just buy a lot of substitute things to make myself feel better.  But guess what, Readers-who-are-about-to-be-shocked, I didn’t buy anything! Not a thing! I wandered around three stores and I touched things and thought “Mmm I like that and would look pretty in it” but then I just turned and walked away from that and thought “Mmm I am awesome at not buying that”.

When I got home I had very good intentions and was going to build my desk that has been sitting in my “hallway” for 2 weeks (I don’t really have a hallway, it’s just the area by my door which is also technically my bedroom, kitchen and living room) and then I was going to go out into the snow and find Marnie and read books.  It’s possible that instead of doing those things I tried to take another nap, but somebody needed bellyrubs, and somebody got them.

Love,

Sarah

1. I play with my food a little too much.

2. I probably could have my masters by now if I hadn’t spent so much time trying to get the perfect photo of Tallulah doing silly things.

3. My friends are pretty adorable.

4. I enjoy marching on Washington and then sitting around.

5. I am willing to go pretty far out of my way to photograph the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile.

6. I am kind of a giant nerd.

I’m not going to lie to you, darling readers, this photo of the Hogwarts Express is not even the tip of the iceberg.  There were literal bajillions of photos of The Wizarding World of Harry Potter (my bestie got us advanced tickets, I saw it before anybody, no big deal) on my phone.  I erased about half of my photos of the inauguration. Yep, the inauguration of my beloved President Obama. I erased at least half of those photos to accommodate photos of Zonko’s and videos of me squealing at things like plastic owls and large enchanted lollipops.  Also, I’m not sorry.

Love,

Sarah

Brilliant readers, I would like to talk to you today about gadgets and my desire to own them.  The idea of gadgets makes me so happy and curious that I simply must obtain them and make them do my bidding.  Here is the general timeline of my love-affairs with devices with buttons:

1. A troublesome situation occurs and I think to myself “Self, if you only had (insert thingy with buttons here) this situation would not happen anymore and you would never again be troubled.”

2.  I talk to a bunch of people and tell them “Oh, yeah, one of those buttony things?  I’m totally getting one.”  I say this with a nonchalant shrug which implies that I eat buttony things for breakfast.

3.  I get a buttony thing.  I either spend money that I cannot afford to spend or I ask my parents (because I am a 14 year old) to purchase me this buttony thing as an early birthday/Christmas/Arbor Day present because I Cannot Live Without This Buttony Thing Any More.

4.  I receive buttony thing in the mail and open the box and look at the buttons and become intimidated.  I attempt to stay calm, but I know in my heart that maybe this buttony thing was a mistake.

5.  I press buttons on the buttony thing until I am crying, then I put the buttony thing in a drawer or a jewelry box so it can’t look at me with its stupid judgy buttony eyes.

Are you ready for real-life examples, curious readers?  I would like to preface this section by saying that I really am kind of a smarty pants.  I just have giant gaps in my knowledge of technology.  Technology makes me feel like an old, old lady who was transported into the future. Here we go:

1. The Stupid iPod.  The stupid iPod has been sitting in my jewelry box for about a year.  When I first got it I managed to download Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” onto it because I thought that I would like to listen to that song while I ran (um, slowly walked) around the block.  I did not see the need to download any other songs because I just wanted to listen to That Song and everyone should just leave me alone about it, Jesus.

But then I lost my headphones.  And then I lost my will to run about.  Then the iPod started making me feel defeated so I hid it away.  And then last week a friend (Edit: My gentleman muse, who is demanding monetary compensation for this post) suggested that we put music on my iPod and I justified my refusal with some kind of malarkey about how if I walk around with headphones on I’ll end up dead in a dark alley.  Also, I have no headphones. Whatever.

2. The Stupid Graphing Calculator.  Remember in high school? The stupid graphing calculators?  The awesomest thing I ever figured out how to do on that thing was to write the word “Boob”.  But you can do that on a regular calculator! Or with a pen! Or right now! Look, I just typed it! Stupid graphing calculator.

3.  The Stupid GPS.  Okay, so the GPS has helped me get un-lost about 4 times (that is 4 out of 597 per week).  I call GPS “GPS” and I think of it as “her” and I think of her as a big jerk.  I usually end up screaming the following:  “Shut up, GPS! Stop recalculating! Stop taking me through traffic circles! Why am I back by my apartment?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEEEE?!” while weeping and trying to figure out how to make GPS stop flying around the car without one of those contraptions that keeps her from flying around the car.  And then GPS stopped talking to me (probably because of the yelling) and now I can’t get her to talk again and have begun to think of her as Broken Forever although I’m sure there is a quick fix.  Like maybe I could bake her cookies and apologize for the road rage and the foul language.

So there are just a few examples of why I cannot and should not be trusted with buttony things.  Next post is going to be photos from the last 3 years with my low-tech cellular telephone.  Because I have a BlackBerry now.  It was an early Christmas present.  Because I love gadgets.

Love,

Sarah

Brave Readers, last night I discovered a purchase that I absolutely must make.  That purchase is a cat carrier.

Last night kitty and I were lounging on the couch in our jammies catching up on “The Office” on the Internets (has anyone noticed that “The Office” sucks a little now? Cause it does) when the fire alarm in my building started to go off.

Unshockable Readers, most of you have met me and probably know that I’m a little prone to panic.  Here is what happened next:

First, I sprinted to my peep-hole and frantically peeped to see if others on my floor (the top floor of the building.  The floor on which one is most likely to perish in flames.) were running for their lives/already on fire.  I saw a few people stick their heads out of their doors, which signaled to me that we were all in Terrible Danger and I had to act fast to save the life of my precious kitty.

I then tore through my closet in a desperate search for an appropriate vessel that would allow me to transport kitty to my car without him escaping into the night.  I considered my large brown purse, but I would have to zip him up all the way and then what if he suffocated?  I considered one of my many carry-on rolling suitcases, but the problem was the same.  Then I saw it, Readers-Who-are-Most-Certainly-on-the-Edge-of-Your-Seats, my mesh laundry bag! Not only is it big enough for kitty, there are holes all over it so he can breathe, there is also a drawstring that I can double tie to keep the bag super closed until I can get us to the car and away from this place.

I proceeded to dump the laundry that was in the laundry bag onto the floor and turned to rescue kitty, but kitty was no longer on the couch.  The hubbub had startled him and he was hiding under the bed.  So under the bed I dove, triumphantly shouting “I’ll save you kitty!”

By this time, Impressed Readers, the fire alarm had stopped going off but I had not noticed.  I had rescued kitty from under the bed and wrestled him into the laundry bag and was about to run out into Columbia Heights in my stretchy pants and sheep slippers.  I took another peep out of my peephole just to be sure that the hallway had not filled with flames (in that situation, kitty and I would have leapt from the window onto the roof of the building next door like Batman) and noticed that everything appeared completely normal.  No more fire alarm, no neighbors stopping, dropping, or rolling in the hallway, and there was  a pizza delivery man standing outside of my neighbor’s door with a pizza.

I am very relieved that there was not a fire.  And that kitty didn’t seem too traumatized or mad at me after being forced into a Tide brand laundry bag.  But what about Next Time, Terrified Readers?

So today I’ll go to PetSmart and purchase a cat carrier, and I will justify it as a life-saving device/present for kitty, and then kitty and I will be Ready for Anything.

Anything except burglars.  Kitty and I are still quite afraid of burglars.

Love,

Sarah

Although it may be possible that the teacups were not all that necessary, because it may or may not have turned out that everyone was drinking tea flavored boozes instead of actual fancy lady tea:

Please ignore my teacup dress.  I certainly did NOT buy that teacup dress specifically for the party.  Stop looking at it.  Okay.  Look at it.  It’s perfect.  What would you have me do, judgy readers, what would you have me do?!?

Anyways,  I will now post a few photos, courtesy of Toni’s darling roommate and my darling friend, Bobby, who was incredibly brave and took photos of 3o tipsy ladies in wedding mode and giant tea party hats for us so that I would not have to.

Tiny teapots to paint!

Tiny sammiches!

Pretty!

Allison and markers!

Delicious vegan cupcakes!

Smooch!

So it was pretty awesome to get to go to Florida, get a bit of a sunburn, play with some kitties, bake some cookies, do some guilt free shopping, decorate things, hug people, and make a bouquet out of ribbons and a paper plate (no, I do not want to talk about it).  I really really like picking out flowers and putting them places, and I really like baking, and I really like Toni, and I really like tea-flavored boozes, so really it was an ideal day.

Now, because I know you won’t stand for any less, I will leave you with a picture of kitty, who tried to come to Florida with me but was a little too fat for the suitcase.

Love,

Sarah