ludacris and snoop dogg were the stars

My family knows me so well.

 

As you can see, I texted "trellis" instead of "tell."  

The auto fill feature on my phone and I are still at odds.  

 

camping is intents

Matt and I went out the other night, and our evening started off at the place any good evening does.  Sears.  Matt was in the market for a bathing suit and I was in need of a pair of leopard print high heels.  Okay, perhaps "need" is the wrong word.  I saw a pair on Sunday afternoon and just fell in love, although I wasn't quite sure I was ready to take the plunge into the world of animal print footwear.  So, being the cautious shopper that I (sometimes) am, I employed the 24 hour test. Turns out I was still thinking of them Monday night, so I decided to go ahead and seize the retail opportunity.  Now, some people (coughmysistercough) may say that a pair of black, white, and blue leopard print high heels at any price isn't a bargain, but I disagree.  $11.99?  ONCE IN A LIFETIME. 

 

When we got out to the car I immediately opened up the box to try those bad boys on again, and while I was doing so Matt informed me that I should download the app called "How Stuff Works," because, as he said "it really comes in handy for all those times you wonder exactly how a two stroke engine works, for example."  

Do you know how many times I've wondered about the mechanical logistics of a two stroke engine?  ZERO.  Truthfully, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a two stroke engine until Matt broke the news of its existence to me and my leopard shoes last night. 

You may think that after Sears, there was nowhere to go but up, but you would be wrong.  We continued on our merry, low budget way to Wal Mart, where we were in and out in five minutes, and we didn't even take a detour through the camping department.  That is quite remarkable because Matt has been bitten by the camping bug. 

He decided a while back that he was going to plan a camping trip for one of the last weekends in August, and that he wanted me to accompany him.  Apparently he subscribes to the theory of “go big or go home,” because in the next week he ordered enough camping equipment to stock the local sporting goods store.  Also, because he loves a good spreadsheet, he made one about what we will need to bring and the food we can eat, and then he printed it out and it is currently stored in his leather portfolio for safe keeping.  I’m not kidding.  All. Business.

One of Matt’s purchases was a sleeping bag that is guaranteed to keep him toasty warm even if the temperatures dip down into single digits.  I don’t foresee that being a problem though, since the trip is planned for AUGUST when the temperatures hover around, oh, NINETY.  But better safe than sorry, I suppose, since you know how unpredictable those late August low pressure systems can be.  

Not to mention that tricky jet stream.

Or something.

Matt’s been asking me if I have a sleeping bag, and what the temperature rating is.  He advised me to get one that is promises warmth even when it’s 30 degrees cold outside.  Although if he thinks that I will be sleeping out in the wilderness in January with just a layer of nylon between me and a raging case of hypothermia, he doesn’t know me nearly as well as I thought he did.  

I have assured him that I do own a sleeping bag, I’m just not exactly sure where it is, and since it was used primarily for the high school sleepover circuit, I’m not even sure that it has a temperature rating.

Well, the other day I came home and literally tripped over something in my doorway.  It was the prodigal sleeping bag.  I was curious to know from whence it came, so I asked around.  My mom knew nothing about it.  My brother wasn’t home.  Next up?  Emily.  I went into the kitchen and said “Hey Em, did you put that sleeping bag in my doorway?” 

“Nope,” she said, “Phil did.  He was cleaning out his room, and he had it because that’s the sleeping bag he always uses.  Although I did take it with me on the youth group trip because we slept on the dorm floors…sooooo…you’re probably going to want to wash it.”

Well how kind and generous of my dear siblings to make sure my sleeping bag gets plenty of use and attention, and then return it to me just in time for it to be washed!

Perhaps the How Stuff Works app has a little section that I could share with them called WASHING MACHINES.

I got a little off track there.

So, the other night I got home and introduced my shoes to the family, and then Emily came into the kitchen and asked me if she could use my laptop to google something for school.  I told her that I'd like a go at the question first because I take any and all opportunities to blow her away with my intelligence.  

"It's for my summer math packet..." she said with a hint of doubt in her voice, as if I might not be able to handle it.  However, I did make it through high school and college and out the other side, so I was pretty confident that my math skillz were adequate enough for her 10^th grade homework.  Although I don’t think I will ever quite recover from my Math 21 experience in college.  Intermediate algebra with my professor, Sunghoon Bueng.  He spoke little to no English which wasn’t exactly beneficial for a class full of liberal arts majors whose idea of math was figuring out how many loads of laundry they could do with the change at the bottom of their schoolbag.

Emily read me the problem…

A plane makes the trip from City A to City B at 800 km/h. The return, at 1000 km/h takes 1/2 h less than the initial flight. Find the distance between the towns.

I literally felt sick.  There is nothing I dislike more than a distance word problem.  Also, HELLOOOO METRIC SYSTEM!  HAVE WE BEEN TRANSPORTED TO GREAT BRITAIN AND NO ONE TOLD ME?  

I slid over my computer and wished her luck.  Although looking back, I should have just showed her the “How Stuff Works” app because I bet there would have been a solution on there.   

And if not, she could have just written an essay on two stroke engines.  I’m sure she totally would have gotten some bonus points for that.

at least i was wearing shoes?

There’s nothing like spending the day going out to lunch, browsing the mall for an hour or so, and then dropping by the food store, the library, and the bookstore only to sit down at 4:30 in the afternoon and realize that you went all of those places while wearing two different colored shoes.

Not that I would know from experience or anything.

i wonder what they would do if i went away for TWO weeks

When I was in college, one of my favorite pastimes was staying up until the wee hours of the morning talking.  I know…shocking.  I specifically remember freshman year when my roommate and I stayed up until 2 or 3 am on pretty much a nightly basis, talking about boys and classes and boys and the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy and boys. 

And, of course, our academic pursuits. 

We were giddy with the freedom and the absence of someone in authority telling us to STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP.  The talking was poorly planned because we both had 8:00 classes, and went to the dining hall for breakfast before class every single day.  We sat at the table next to the football team and it was our daily brush with division 1 football fame.  

Also, I valued starting each day with as many fried potato products as possible. 

 

Anyway, when I graduated and came home, I noticed that when it was bedtime, everyone in my family would just get in bed and go to sleep.  It’s like they wanted to be well rested for work and school and responsibilities!  I, on the other hand, could not make myself do that.  So every night I would go to Emily’s room and chat with her until my mom would come into the hallway and say “LEAVE EMILY ALONE AND LET HER GO TO SLEEP.”  

However, now that I’m a full year into this whole “waking up fairly early and not having time for a three to four hour afternoon nap” routine, I love nothing more than to get in bed and go right to sleep at 10:30.  I’m twenty two going on SENIOR CITIZEN.  Unfortunately, the tables are turning because every night for the past two weeks, Emily has come to my door several times while I am trying to go to sleep.

Just other night I was brushing my teeth, and when I came out of the bathroom, she was sitting on my bed waiting for me.  She wanted to see the youtube video of Phoebe singing Smelly Cat, which really made me regret singing my own version to her in the car earlier that day and putting the idea in her head.  We watched the video and then I turned out my light and started to fall asleep.  Until I heard my door slowly open and someone tiptoe in.  I opened my eyes and there was Emily, about two inches away from my face saying “can I just turn your light on so I can ask you a quick question?”  Sure Emily, just make sure you stand far away because because MY HEAD, IT MIGHT EXPLODE.  

Em turned on the light, held out her hand and asked “which color do you like best?” as she showcased five differently painted nails.  My head went from imminent explosion to pure joy, because seriously?  It made me feel like a rock star that she went to all the trouble to paint her nails five different colors, and then wanted my opinion on which one I liked best so badly that she was willing to wake me up to get it.  I’m sure if I had a little brother I would think the world of him, but having a little sister?  Pretty sweet.

(Although I knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in you know where that she would pick the color I chose, because she is, how can I say, CONTRARY?  But still, it’s the thought that counts.)

This week I have been dog sitting, so I haven’t been at home.  And let me tell you, I’ve been missed by the rest of the family.  Understandably so.  I went home on my lunch hour the other day to get some more clothes, and Emily greeted me at the door with a HUGE hug.  That’s remarkable because she’s 15 and at the age where she and her friends hug EVERY SINGLE TIME they see each other, but hugging your sister?  TOTALLY NOT COOL.  But I got a hug the other day, and even Phil was glad to see me.

We all talked for a few minutes and then I went into the bathroom because I forgot to pack my Dramatically Different Moisturizing Gel, without which I cannot survive.  When I came back Emily had played a practical joke in the form of taking several knick knacks off of my dresser and hiding them.  And removing the light bulb from my lamp. 

And then Phil locked my in my room and did some tricky maneuver with the key from his spot in the hallway so I could not get out.

It’s so nice to be missed.

i bet i'll be thrilled if this happens when i'm sixty

If I had a nickel for every time I started a post with “I can’t believe it’s already Monday…” I would be a rich girl.

Or I’d have about thirty five cents.

Either way, I can’t believe that it’s Monday because these past two days flew by, as per usual.

The weekend started off with a bang.  Literally.  We had a major thunderstorm on Friday night, with more lightning than I think I’ve seen in my whole life and rain that blew parallel to the ground.  In the midst of the thunder and rain, Matt and I decided to go to the movies!  We waited to leave until there was a lull in the storm, but even during the lull it was still raining hard enough for Matt to immediately turn on his windshield wipers, which is noteworthy. 

Matt and I agree on many things, but we have completely different philosophies about windshield wipers.  I believe in turning them on as fast as possible at the first indication of precipitation.  I hate it when there is a drop of rain on my windshield.  HATE. IT.

Matt, on the other hand, is content to leave them off until he can hardly see through the windshield.  So when we’re driving together, we have an unspoken battle of wills.  He leaves the wipers off for as long as he can, and I try to keep myself from saying, “PLEASE TURN ON THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS!!”

I always lose.

By the time we arrived at the movie theater, rain was coming down in BUCKETS.  Matt dropped me off at the door because he is a gentleman, and then ventured out to find a parking spot.  Keep in mind that it was Friday night at 7:45, so the closet parking spot was practically in the next zip code.  His shirt was soaked when he made it into the theater, and was still wet when we left two hours later.

While Matt parked I went into the theater to purchase the tickets.  I stepped right up to the ticket window to place my order, and the grumpy, middle aged woman behind the counter asked me how old I was.  I assumed that was because she wanted to see if I would qualify for the student discount.  Unfortunately I didn’t have my school ID with me, and I knew if I told her my real age it was possible that she would doubt the fact that I was a student, because in general 22 year olds have completed their education and I certainly didn’t want to bore her with my lengthy tale of how I am pursuing a post-graduate degree because while I had a lovely time as an English major, it’s not something that screams IN DEMAND IN THE JOB MARKET and I just want to be able to move out on my own and support myself and buy cute little accessories at Ikea for my apartment!

So, I lied.  I told the woman that I was 21, hoping that she would assume that at that age I was still a student and knock a dollar off the adult ticket price of $11.50.  Or as I like to call it, HIGHWAY ROBBERY. 

However, when I told her my (fake) age, she asked to see my license.  The license that clearly shows that I am no longer 21.  Shoot.  I opened my wallet, pulled out my license, and slid it across the counter.  She studied it for a moment, looked straight at me, and said “You’re 22.”

I did the only thing I could do in that moment, which was look down at my feet and utter the lamest, most unbelievable excuse in the book.

“Oh.  I forgot.”

Luckily she did end up giving me the tickets, along with a large helping of some serious eye rolling.  Can’t really say that I blame the woman.

While I waited by the popcorn counter for Matt to come inside, I looked down at our tickets.  

Theater 13

Horrible Bosses

Rated: R

RATED R.  The ticket woman wasn’t asking my age because she couldn't decide if I was young enough to be a student; she wanted to make sure that I WAS AT LEAST SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD.  Which means that the effort I went to in order to make myself appear YOUNGER was TOTALLY UNNECESSARY.  

Saturday was a full of shopping and visiting and eating homemade pizza with some family.  My cousin and I are dog sitting this week, so we devoted our Sunday morning to watching quite a few hours of quality television programming, and by that I mean the wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana along with several episodes of Jerseylicious.  And then we spent the entire afternoon floating around in the pool.  Tough life.

As it turns out,  royal weddings, Jerseylicious, and swimming can really wear a girl out, and by last night we were understandably EXHAUSTED.  I went to bed at 9:45 and enjoyed a solid nine hours of sleep.  It was glorious. 

Although, I’ve read that one of the best anti-aging techniques is making sure you get enough sleep.  I’m thinking that perhaps I should cut down on the shut eye.  After all, I’m turning TWENTY THREE in a few weeks, and I’d love to look, oh I don't know, MY DECADE.

i was tempted to buy a bow and arrow

If someone asked me a few years ago if I ever planned to spend part of a date night in the hunting department of the sporting goods store, looking at countless types of guns and ammunition, I would have said HECK TO THE NO.

 

  And I would have been very, very wrong, because look where I accompanied Matt the other night.

Oh my.

did i mention that it's been HOT?

The other night after dinner Matt and I decided to go for a little creekside walk.  The temperature that evening was 101 degrees, and the humidity was about a thousand percent.  Oh, and the heat index?  ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN DEGREES.  FAHRENHEIT.  So basically, the perfect night for a twilight stroll!  

If you enjoy spontaneous combustion.

Matt and I were about thirty eight seconds into our walk when we caught this glimpse of The Wildlife. 

This deer turned around and stared straight at us for about fifteen seconds.  Then, once he decided we were harmless and firearm free, he continued on about his business of wading through the cold water because did I mention it was ONE HUNDRED AND ONE DEGREES?  I tried to take some pictures but they are a little bit blurry due to all of the excitement.  

Our deer friend eventually wandered to the other side of the stream and put his mouth down towards the water.  I looked at Matt and said, “Aww, look!  Do you think he’s fishing?”

Well, talk about spontaneous combustion. I think Matt’s head almost exploded.  And for the record, no, the deer was not fishing, because WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU SAW A DEER EAT MEAT?  THEY EAT THINGS LIKE LEAVES. 

AND APPLES. 

While I may not have seen a deer eat meat recently, it's also been QUITE A WHILE since I've seen one eat an apple. 

Another milestone in my life occurred this past weekend.  I took the train into the city and back, ALL BY MYSELF!  Getting into the city didn't make me as nervous as coming home, because let me tell you, there are some OPTIONS when you are homeward bound.  It wasn't as overwhelming as I thought though, and once I was 99% sure that I need to be waiting at track 4B, I claimed myself a spot on a bench and waited in the underground train station even though it was several hundred degrees because oh, the horror of possibly missing it. 

While I was sitting on my bench with my ol' eagle eyes glued to the incoming board, TWO PEOPLE asked me where they should be standing for their particular trains.  One man was going to DELAWARE.  I decided it was not the best idea to be giving out directional advice to others when I wasn't even totally sure of my own mass transit decisions, so I basically just wished my fellow travelers good luck on their inter-state adventures. 

I felt badly though that they had questions that I couldn't answer.  If only they had asked me whether or not deer eat fish.

if you have a brother, i bet you can sympathize

I took several hundred pictures on vacation a few weeks ago.  Last night I sat down to look at all of them, and once again I was blown away by the breathtaking scenery.

Gorgeous.

Striking.

Beautiful.

Picturesque.

Majestic.

There are some definite framers in this group.

HOWEVA.  It appears that between my cloud and mountain picture taking, SOMEONE commandeered my camera and took several photos of the famous and TOTALLY MATURE elbow butt.

I wasn't going to name names, but there's nothing I can do about self- incrimination.

my BFFs nellie bly and madonna

These past few weeks have been chock full o’ busy.  After being away for a week pet/house sitting, going on vacation two weeks ago, and being out of town these past few days with Emily and my mom, I feel a bit like Nellie Bly must have felt after she circumnavigated the globe in a mere seventy two days.  Except I never left the Pennsylvania border states.  And I most certainly did not travel with only one single dress and a bag of toiletry essentials tied around my neck, OH MY HEAVENS NO.  

I have a feeling Nellie and I would have a very different definition of what constitutes “essential.”  For example, I’m willing to bet that her bag of necessities did not contain lavender sea salt body scrub, Milani 3-D Glitzy Glamor Lip Gloss in Fashion Diva, or a bottle of organic cold pressed castor oil for a once weekly facial application to ensure clear, radiant skin.  

However, I do think that the kinship I feel for Nellie could perhaps explain why a few weeks ago I suddenly started saying, “Sweet Nellie Bly!” in an exclamatory fashion when something was shocking/funny/exciting.  The first time I heard it come out of my mouth, I even surprised myself.  And then I couldn’t. stop. saying. it.  The next morning I decided to do a little research because SURELY it had to be an already established saying and somehow I just picked up on it, since prior to that day I had thought about Nellie approximately zero times in the last decade.  

I went to Google, typed in “sweet Nellie Bly,” and do you know what came up?  Nothing.  Not one result of those three words being in the same category as “oh my goodness” or “wow!”  I have since stopped saying it, because, WEIRD.  Although now that Nellie and I are practically BFFs, it might be a good time to reintroduce it to my lexicon.

Last night seemed like the first time in a long time that I wasn’t packing for/unpacking from a trip, so I spent the evening the way millions of people all over the world only dream of.  Introducing Emily to Madonna’s version of “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.”

(The truth is…I neeeeeeeee-ver left youuuuu.)

I felt it was part of my duty as a big sister.  I also decided I need to add that to my regular reportoire of songs, which so far is limited to Meatloaf’s "I Would Do Anything for Love," Whitney Houston’s "I Wanna Dance With Somebody," and Celine’s “It’s All Coming Back,” complete with sound effects.  Once in a while I throw in Michael Bolton’s “How Can We Be Lovers If We Can’t Be Friends?” because I appreciate a vocalist who can ask the hard hitting questions.

The audience for my singing is typically my mom, sister, or Matt.  I bet they’ll be thrilled with my new addition.  Of course the alternative is that they will wish they were Nellie Bly, halfway across the world.  

I’m hoping for the former.

bic doesn't stand a chance

We returned home from vacation two Saturdays ago which meant that once last Monday morning rolled around, the train of Responsibility In The Form Of A Full Time Job And Night School was leaving the station and it was time for me to hop aboard.  

I'm sorry to say that things on the R.I.T.F.O.A.F.T.J.A.N.S. train didn’t get off on the right foot (or track, if you will) because I had class the very next night and it was there that I found myself in a situation I hoped to never be in.  To get the full story let me back it up like a Tonka truck (name that song) all the way back to college.  Oh, college.  How I miss you dearly and on a very regular basis.  

One thing that annoyed me in college was when a fellow student would show up to class without a writing utensil of any kind.  As someone who maintained a sizable inventory of pens, pencils, and highlighters in my bag AT ALL TIMES, I could not understand students who would arrive to class and not bring ONE SINGLE INSTRUMENT WITH WHICH TO WRITE.   

So the other night, after a harsh re-acquaintance with the world of rush hour traffic, I arrived at school. I proceeded to go through a quick mental checklist before I went to my classroom for my Estates and Trusts class, which can only be described as DRY.  DRIER THAN THE SAHARA DESSERT.  Unless of course, you’re talking about excluding a close family member from your will, in which case, DRAMA.

 I gathered my things, “textbook…check; notebook…check; pen………………”

 I didn’t have a pen.

Oh, the judgmental, collegiate tables.  How they had turned.

I walked to class with my head down and shamefully asked a peer if I could borrow a pen.  Since I neglected to bring one.  

Turns out I had class the next night also, and guess what I didn’t bring?  A pen.  Since asking for a pen TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW at SCHOOL was something I was not willing to do, I drove on over to CVS where I stood in front of one of the largest pen displays I had ever laid eyes on.  I came very close to purchasing the new Sharpie pen, because if I had a dollar for every good thing I have heard about it, I could actually afford to buy one.  In the end I decided couldn’t justify spending five dolla dolla bills on something that would likely be misplaced within 24 hours, so I went with the Papermate Profile.  I felt it was the right decision because they were buy one, get one free, plus it’s THE WORLD’S SMOOTHEST PEN.  And I’m a sucker for a superlative.

And now I am very curious about how that determination was made.  Is there cold, hard proof somewhere?  A spreadsheet of raw data I could perhaps look at?   Also, who tested every single pen in the WORLD?  And how do I get a job doing that?  I am confident that I could find make a wildly successful career of testing several products I enjoy and then making sweeping generalizations about them.  

This is THE WORLD’S SHINIEST LIPGLOSS.  

I am eating THE WORLD’S BEST ICE CREAM. 

Sign. Me. Up.

My 4 pack of pens and I made it to the classroom just in time.  I ripped open that bag o’ pens and got ready to take some serious notes.  Please know that the next sentence is written without one ounce of sarcasm whatsoever.  

I have never written with a pen that smooth.  

Seriously.  I could hardly control my writing.  My normally neat, boxy, controlled writing was suddenly flowing wildly onto the page.  The profile has a mind of its own and just glided across that page like an Olympic figure skater on a rink of ice.  It was unbelievable.  I can officially attest to the fact that the Papermate Profile is indeed the WORLD’S SMOOTHEST PEN. 

And now I think I should probably build up the superlatives section of my resume so that I can find a job sampling chocolate/nail polish/coffeemate flavors PRONTO.  I don’t have a second to lose, so tonight I’m going to start a hunt for the WORLD’S BEST POTATO CHIP.  It's for the people, really.  I’m just happy to help.

once you pop, the fun don't stop

Well, well, well.  I have returned.  I say that as though people far and wide were missing regular humorous content over here at Oh Laura Darling, which is by and large totally unrealistic.  Nevertheless, I spent last week vacationing with my family at a lake in the mountains a few states away.  ‘Twas a lovely time, but when I returned my brain felt a wee bit dusty because I spent several days writing nothing more complex than a Wal Mart shopping list.  

Yes, we went there.  

One or four times.

I can't stay away.

 

Anyway, I have OH SO MUCH that I could write about vacation.   It was fantastic.  We swam and hiked and explored and boated and shopped and s'mored and rested and laughed.

And, OF COURSE, we popped.

that's my motto

Or "to" gramatically correct.

they call me the cat whisperer

So.  I'm currently doing something I never really thought I would do.


Pursuing my pilot's license.


Oh,  I kid.  I'm pet sitting.  


Things are going well, except this whole experience has solidified the fact that I am not a cat person.  First of all, I do not like the fact that she can sneak around silently, and most of the time, I know not where she sneaks.  

Furthermore, Kitty and I had ourselves a battle of the wills on Saturday night when it took twenty minutes for me to lure her into the half bath where she sleeps.  Twenty.  Long.  Minutes.  I was scared to death to pick her up and she refused to move from her perch at the top of the stairs.  Eventually I resorted to enticing her with a trail of tuna flavored cat treats.  She stared at the path o' treats for a long time, but eventually gave in and as soon as she ran in the bathroom I shut the door behind her and breathed a sigh of victorious relief.

And that is when I realized I was in a Major Pickle because I had left the light on. 

Suddenly I felt sympathetic and wondering how, OH HOW, will the poor cat get a proper night's rest with the light on?    However, I knew if I opened the door enough to get inside, that cat would shoot out of there like a bat out of you know where.  And there weren’t enough kitty treats left to lure her back in since I had totally depleted my supply in round 1.  

So I just waited a few minutes to throw her off her game, then I opened the door a teeny, tiny little crack, wedged a wooden spoon in through the opening, and slid it up and down the wall until I found the switch, and flipped it down so the cat could sleep soundly without being bothered by the light.

I'm pleased to report that the cat seemed extra rested and refreshed in the morning, no doubt due to her dark sleeping quarters.  Also, she has gone to the bed every night since without a bit of a problem.

Not only have I learned to outsmart a cat, but this week has provided me with the opportunity to add three things to my list of Things I Never Thought I'd Google.

1- How do you know if a cat is happy?

2- What does it mean when a cat arches her back?

3- How do you clean a litter box?

I'm still a little unclear on the answers to questions 1 and 2, but I learned the answer to number 3.  OH, I LEARNED.


And then I gagged.

Anywho, in addition to the cat, I am also in charge of a very agreeable beagle, some well behaved fish, and a guinea pig.   That's right.  I'm a regular Dr. Doolittle.

The experience is actually reminding me of the time my college roommates and I bought our own guinea.

Winnie.

Hey, did you know that Petco has a 30 day return policy, and that it includes animals?

That’s one of those things that people read on the back of the receipt and think, “Who in the world uses the return policy at Petco?!” 

Me.  I use it. 

I promise that we bought Winnie the Guinea with the best of intentions.  

 

We thought a guinea pig would be SO FUN AND ADORABLE.  You know what's not fun and adorable?  Cleaning out a guinea pig cage several times a week, and a member of the phylum rodentia living in your kitchen.


Truthfully I can't even believe that Petco sold Winnie to us, because when we saw the guinea pig cages we decided they didn't go with our decorating scheme so instead we bought Winnie a pink, Victorian style bird cage in which to live.  

Well, four days later we were back at Petco with our receipt, the pink bird cage, and a makeshift shoebox-carrying crate for Winnie the Guinea.  'Twas not meant to be.

 And that's the story of Winnie the Guinea.


Now, it's time for me to go create a path of tuna treats. 


I don't know how I stand all the glamour around here.