In lieu of such, I am posting a picture of Little Boo digging his claws into my shoulder (because cats are always cute).
Who's the silly cat!Monday, April 26, 2010
Feline Filler
No Boston race report yet (still waiting on World's Most Overpriced Photos).
In lieu of such, I am posting a picture of Little Boo digging his claws into my shoulder (because cats are always cute).
Who's the silly cat!
In lieu of such, I am posting a picture of Little Boo digging his claws into my shoulder (because cats are always cute).
Who's the silly cat!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Tease
Because I just know you're all waiting for something relating to the Boston Marathon (race report forthcoming; I just ordered an incredibly expensive CD of all my Official Race Photos and I'd like to use some of them in my post, so I'm going to wait until that arrives; for $100 it should be here TODAY and hand-delivered by Ryan Hall and Brian Sell1), I'm going to throw y'all a wee bone. And because this is me we're talking about here, it should come as NO surprise this is the picture I have chosen to represent my day:
Victory tastes like a Harpoon IPA served cold in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Victory tastes like a Harpoon IPA served cold in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
1: The fact that I just name-dropped two runners as my Dream Postpeople has just qualified me as World's Biggest Running Nerd.
Monday, April 19, 2010
26.2 Miles is Wicked Fah
2010 Boston Marathon finishing time: 4:11:57.
I did it, by golly. No one can ever take this away from me.
Mobile Blogging from here.
I did it, by golly. No one can ever take this away from me.
Mobile Blogging from here.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Overcome
I made it to Boston.
Picking up my packet today, I was overwhelmed with emotion. When I held that number in my hands, I choked up.
After spending an obscene amount of money at the race expo, I am now waiting for my hostess for the weekend to arrive at the restaurant for dinner. in the meantime I am enjoying a hand pulled Allagash Black. Ahhhh.
Three more days!
Mobile Blogging from here.
Picking up my packet today, I was overwhelmed with emotion. When I held that number in my hands, I choked up.
After spending an obscene amount of money at the race expo, I am now waiting for my hostess for the weekend to arrive at the restaurant for dinner. in the meantime I am enjoying a hand pulled Allagash Black. Ahhhh.
Three more days!
Mobile Blogging from here.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Well? How did I get here?
And by "here," I mean four days away from running the Boston Marathon.
Never underestimate what you can accomplish if you set your mind and body to it.
1: I'm still a couch potato, but now I exercise a lot to offset my natural inclination toward laziness.
- August 2006: Joined Weight Watchers
- October 2006: Ran a half mile on the treadmill at the gym, called it quits in exhaustion
- November 12, 2006: Ran my first 5K in over six years and finished in 32:58
- June 2007: Registered for the Detroit Half Marathon in a moment of wild speculation
- October 21, 2007: Ran the Detroit half in 2:07:40, the farthest I'd ever run in my life, and said afterward there was "no way" I was ever going to run a full marathon
- April 2008: Registered for the Detroit Marathon (so much for never running a marathon)
- Sometime in the summer of 2008: Learned that one had to qualify for the Boston Marathon
- September 27, 2008: Ran my final 20-mile training run for Detroit at a pace of 8:38/mile, which made me start thinking "What if..."
- October 19, 2008: Ran the Detroit Marathon in 3:52:01, missing my Boston time by 6:02
- About a minute after finishing Detroit: Decided I was going to BQ in Cleveland in May 2009, by god
- January 2009: Started training for the Cleveland Marathon
- February 2009: Briefly reached a total weight loss amount of 70 lbs (too bad I didn't stay there)
- May 17, 2009: Ran a 3:45:14 at Cleveland, thereby qualifying for Boston
- November 1, 2009: Ran the NYC Marathon and had the most fun I've ever had in a race, proving that running 26.2 miles at once can actually be enjoyable
- January 2010: Started training for Boston
- April 16, 2010: Depart for Boston
- April 19, 2010: I will find myself in Hopkinton with 25,000 other runners
Never underestimate what you can accomplish if you set your mind and body to it.
1: I'm still a couch potato, but now I exercise a lot to offset my natural inclination toward laziness.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
No. Just....No.
Wearing full makeup while working out: Awesome!
Wearing a lacy tube top to keep your enormous fake boobs in place while running (barely): Even better!
Smoking a cigarette after working out: OMG just stop now.
Looking like a total asshat: Priceless.
Who is this bimbo, you may ask? She's some chick from that awful MTV reality show "Jersey Shore." The only exposure I have to "Jersey Shore" is the 30 or so seconds devoted to it on The Soup on occasion. Any more than that any my brain starts to hurt. The stupid, it burns.
When celebrities "run," the results are often...interesting.
Via The Superficial.
In other boob news: Amy Winehouse!
Wearing a lacy tube top to keep your enormous fake boobs in place while running (barely): Even better!
Smoking a cigarette after working out: OMG just stop now.
Looking like a total asshat: Priceless.
Who is this bimbo, you may ask? She's some chick from that awful MTV reality show "Jersey Shore." The only exposure I have to "Jersey Shore" is the 30 or so seconds devoted to it on The Soup on occasion. Any more than that any my brain starts to hurt. The stupid, it burns.
When celebrities "run," the results are often...interesting.
Via The Superficial.
In other boob news: Amy Winehouse!
Friday, April 9, 2010
B-Minus 10 Days
In one week I will be on my way to Boston.
Am I ready for this race? I suppose. I will be able to run the distance, but I suspect this one is going to hurt more than the previous ones. I did two 20-mile runs, but the last one was almost 3 weeks ago. My experiment with self-guided training was largely a failure. I now know without a doubt I need the structure of a regimented training program. For my next marathon I am going back to my trusted friend Hal Higdon, whose Intermediate II program was the one I used for the Cleveland Marathon last year (the race at which I qualified for Boston). It worked.
I am well aware I am not in the same physical condition I was a year ago pre-Cleveland (amazing) or even six months ago pre-New York (still pretty good). I have felt sluggish for quite some time and I'm in a running mojo-less funk, which is not a great place to be when one is about to run the Boston Marathon. I know this race is going to be a slow one, possibly even slower than NYC (4:16). Having come to terms with this, I am going to bring my camera and my love of running to the starting line and just go out there and have fun. This is Boston, for crying out loud. BOSTON! I'm going to soak up every sound and sight available, and I can't do that if I'm obsessing about my pace and time like I was in Cleveland.
In other news:
Did anyone else see this story? OUCH!
The World's Most Annoying Dog problem I ranted about has abated this week because the weather took a sudden detour back into Winter. After Monday and Tuesday pushed into the high 70s, Wednesday kicked off a downward spiral which included the appearance of snow flurries this morning. Yes, that's right, SNOW FLURRIES. Welcome to Michigan!
A couple of days ago I got together with Spike for a pre-Boston strategy session, which consisted of eating candy while wearing our Boston Marathon jackets. We both ordered an obscene amount of official race gear (OK, mine was only mildly offensive, but his was truly obscene) and even though it's a huge Race Faux Pas to wear the gear before the race, I insisted we get a tiny bit of our dork on and wear the jackets inside, away from accusing eyes. After all, we both worked our butts off last year to BQ, so I felt we had earned it. Then, what did I do but WEAR THE JACKET OUT TO DINNER. (It was cold and rainy!)
OMG.
Running gods, strike me down now1.
Proof of massive breach of race etiquette.
1: Not only did I wear the jacket out to dinner on Wednesday, three weeks ago I wore it ON A RUN while I was visiting my parents. Clearly, I'm just thumbing my nose at the Running Gods.
Am I ready for this race? I suppose. I will be able to run the distance, but I suspect this one is going to hurt more than the previous ones. I did two 20-mile runs, but the last one was almost 3 weeks ago. My experiment with self-guided training was largely a failure. I now know without a doubt I need the structure of a regimented training program. For my next marathon I am going back to my trusted friend Hal Higdon, whose Intermediate II program was the one I used for the Cleveland Marathon last year (the race at which I qualified for Boston). It worked.
I am well aware I am not in the same physical condition I was a year ago pre-Cleveland (amazing) or even six months ago pre-New York (still pretty good). I have felt sluggish for quite some time and I'm in a running mojo-less funk, which is not a great place to be when one is about to run the Boston Marathon. I know this race is going to be a slow one, possibly even slower than NYC (4:16). Having come to terms with this, I am going to bring my camera and my love of running to the starting line and just go out there and have fun. This is Boston, for crying out loud. BOSTON! I'm going to soak up every sound and sight available, and I can't do that if I'm obsessing about my pace and time like I was in Cleveland.
In other news:
Did anyone else see this story? OUCH!
The World's Most Annoying Dog problem I ranted about has abated this week because the weather took a sudden detour back into Winter. After Monday and Tuesday pushed into the high 70s, Wednesday kicked off a downward spiral which included the appearance of snow flurries this morning. Yes, that's right, SNOW FLURRIES. Welcome to Michigan!
A couple of days ago I got together with Spike for a pre-Boston strategy session, which consisted of eating candy while wearing our Boston Marathon jackets. We both ordered an obscene amount of official race gear (OK, mine was only mildly offensive, but his was truly obscene) and even though it's a huge Race Faux Pas to wear the gear before the race, I insisted we get a tiny bit of our dork on and wear the jackets inside, away from accusing eyes. After all, we both worked our butts off last year to BQ, so I felt we had earned it. Then, what did I do but WEAR THE JACKET OUT TO DINNER. (It was cold and rainy!)
OMG.
Running gods, strike me down now1.
Proof of massive breach of race etiquette.Last weekend the hashers invaded the Waterloo Rec Area for some trail running and cheap beer-drinking. This edition of hashing was co-hared by myself and two other brave souls. Afterward everyone came to my house for a homemade feast I spent several days preparing: two kinds of chili (black bean and and beef), an 8-lb baked ham (from my half hog), eggplant hummus, and two pounds of bacon. There was nothing left but a few scraps of ham after everyone left.
In my house it is a well-known rule that any open container will spontaneously generate a cat. Here Darwin has teleported into one of the coolers we used for the beer checks at the hash last weekend.
In my house it is a well-known rule that any open container will spontaneously generate a cat. Here Darwin has teleported into one of the coolers we used for the beer checks at the hash last weekend.Earlier this week I attended an extremely good concert by a band I first discovered last summer, the xx. This show capped a period of concert-going which spanned almost a month and included some great (and, unfortunately, not-so-great) music. I have a break of a few weeks before the next wave of shows begins on May 10 with Local Natives in Ann Arbor.
The xx live: restrained majesty.
The xx live: restrained majesty.During the mini-trip I took for the xx concert, I went to a bar which had Founders' Kentucky Breakfast Stout ON TAP. This is one of the best beers in the world according to Beer Advocate. I had it for the first time only a couple of weeks ago, and because it is highly seasonal and enjoys limited release I wondered if I would be lucky enough to taste it again this year. I was.
Have a great weekend, everybody!
The xx: "Islands"; "Basic Space"
1: Not only did I wear the jacket out to dinner on Wednesday, three weeks ago I wore it ON A RUN while I was visiting my parents. Clearly, I'm just thumbing my nose at the Running Gods.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Shut the F@%k Up!
Wherein I Reveal That I Am Actually An Extremely Angry Person (Surprise!)
Southeast Michigan has recently been blessed with a burst of uncharacteristically pleasant weather. Each day this week has been a joyful combination of sun and warm temperatures. Spring breezes carry the scent of burgeoning life as plants and soil awaken from their winter slumber. My early morning runs no longer take place in the cold, still darkness; a riotous chorus of robins and other early-rising birds accompanies me. I have thrown open my house's windows to let the fresh air circulate (which also blows all the cat fur tumbleweeds down the hall and reminds me that I need to vacuum).
Opening my winter-stale house to the warm spring air has, however, reintroduced to my life the only thing I don't like about living in my otherwise peaceful neighborhood:
The World's Most Annoying Dog (also known as: That Shitty Little Fucking Yappy Piece of Shit Motherfucking Rat Dog).
I'm not a huge fan of dogs in general. I have a low opinion of poorly-behaved asshole dogs who act like their often similarly poorly-behaved asshole owners (imagine that), like the asshole dog that bit me on my arm last year (those teeth left marks which are still visible). I like dogs the same way I like very small children: fun to play with for a while, but I'm glad I can give them back to their handlers when it's time to go home (especially if they start to act up and/or need a diaper changed, a scenario which may apply both to humans and canines). The only exceptions are my brother and sister-in-law's dog Maya (whom I refer to as "the best dog ever," because she totally is) and my little nephew (who was joined this week by his new baby brother, making me an aunt two times over!). I can cuddle with Maya for hours and when Little Nephew refers to me as "Ra-ra" I turn into a puddle.
Anyway, despite my committed lifelong cat person-ness (save the "crazy cat lady jokes," I only have two cats, not two dozen) I can tolerate and enjoy most dogs. (I just don't want to live with one.)
Not this one.
I hate this dog, The World's Most Annoying Dog (WMAD), with the fire of a thousand suns. I daydream about ways in which this dog could be wiped off the face of the earth. A stray piece of airplane debris, perhaps? My town is in the approach path (albeit 40 miles out) for Detroit Metro Airport, so it's not completely outside the realm of possibility. How about a meteorite? It could totally happen! Lightning strike! Sinkhole! Dognappers! Falling tree branch! Red-tailed hawk! Anything!
Those of you who know me as a soft-hearted animal lover who cries at ads for the Humane Society or ASPCA (damn Sarah McLachlan!) and who has approximately 800 pictures of her cats on her iPhone are probably mystified and a little disturbed. Maybe you're mystified in general because I rarely rant about anything not running-related. Maybe you're just disturbed, in which case, seek professional help.
Let's just say I hide it well, unless you happen to be a helpless passenger in my car while I'm driving. Then you will be hit full-force with the extent of my commentary on all the FUCKING IDIOTS who share the road with me. Blunt-force road rage!
Not today. Not this time. I need to vent, and vent BIG. Like, catastrophic Mt. St. Helens explosive volcanism with bonus pyroclastic flow (now with extra chunky flaming boulders!) kind of big.
Back to the WMAD. First of all, this...thing...can barely be called a dog. My cats are bigger than it. Darwin could kick its ass just by lying on top of it in a nonviolent feline coup. I think it's a miniature or toy something-or-another, maybe a Doberman pinscher. Suffice to say it's the size of a loaf of bread or my Barbie horse from when I was little. Thus, it obeys one of the cardinal rules of caninedom: The smaller the dog, the yappier and more high-pitched its voice. This is the smallest dog I've ever seen; therefore, it is the yappiest dog I've ever come across.
Let's sum up so far: warm weather, open windows, yappy dog three doors down...do you see where this is going?
This is what I heard for a large chunk of Wednesday afternoon and evening as I was TRYING to enjoy hanging out in my house with the windows open for the first time since early November (yes, the windows were closed for five months. Welcome to Michigan!):
YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP
This is what I heard Thursday at 5:45 am after I slept with my windows open:
YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP
I think you get the idea.
Imagine that sound drilling into your brain for HOURS upon HOURS. Imagine hearing that shrill ceaseless shrieking as you lie exhausted on your bed after an 18- or 20-mile training run, desperate for a nap, but unable to fine a shred of peace because that FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT DOG WILL. NOT. SHUT. UP. And for those of you wondering why I didn't close the windows: even with them closed, I can still hear it. Additionally, it's my house and if the weather's nice and I want to have the windows open, then I'm going to have my damn windows open. And there's no fucking way I'm wearing earplugs to sit on my couch and read a book. That's just stupid.
I must justifiably direct a large part of my ire at the "owners," who stick the poor dog in their backyard, attached to an overhead wire, and leave it there alone for hours. No dog deserves that. It's clearly bored or anxious and wants to be with its people, and voices its displeasure by standing by their back door barking (I can see into their yard from certain of my second-floor windows). If you're going to have a dog and ignore it all day, then why even have a dog, you morons? Get a cat; they can deal with being left alone and often want to be left alone. Cats don't freak out if you leave the room. You might leave, come back five hours later, and they haven't even moved. Darwin and Boo might take a moment to look at me as if to say, "Oh, you were gone? I didn't even notice." Plus cats are way quieter.
Additionally, HOW in the WORLD do they not know how disruptive, rude, and insensitive it is to their neighbors to leave their dog outside to yap endlessly? Are these people fucking clueless braindead IDIOTS? I THINK SO. There's no other explanation. Any respectable dog owners with half an ounce of common sense know not to allow their dog to bark nonstop. My next-door neighbors have an Old English sheepdog. It's a big dog with a big bark. It likes to bark at things. They, however, quickly shut it down with a firm "No!" or let it back inside after it's woofed at a few squirrels, falling leaves, me getting into my car, the air passing by...Suffice to say, even though it's exasperating when that dog barks at me when I'm going up the stairs in my house, they have their shit together when it comes to responsible dog ownership.
I dread what's coming this summer. Every weekend the WMAD will be in its yard yapping. It happened last year and I thought I was going to lose my mind. We had such a mild summer that I only ran my air conditioner a handful of times; the rest of the time I kept my windows open. Each Saturday and Sunday I would hope for just one day where I didn't have to listen to that yappy fucker spreading its aural poison around the neighborhood. Occasionally the stars would align and the gods smiled down and the WMAD was nowhere to be heard. Ah, blissful silence! I could hear the breeze rustling the trees, hear the birds chirping, hear my own thoughts.
The other 5 bajillion days I spent muttering "Shut up shut up shut up shut up for the love of fucking god, PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP
I've composed anonymous letters in my head countless times. They always begin: "Dear Dumbasses..." (or "Dear So-Called Owners of the World's Most Annoying Dog...") I've thought about how I could cover my tracks in sending this letter. (I'm not telling.) I've envisioned front-porch confrontations. (No one dies; I'm not that violent.) I've indulged in fantasizing about much more nefarious and unsavory and un-Sarah McLachlanesque ways of dealing with the problem (think flamethrowers). The problem with that is when I have reduced the WMAD to a smoldering pile, letting silence reign over the neighborhood, my heart is pounding and I feel lightheaded from adrenaline. (Power daydreams: try them!)
They've created a monster with their stupidity and the entire neighborhood has to pay the price. I can't possibly be the only one who is harboring a deep and secret hatred.
I just don't know what to do. The prospect of another summer marred by brain-melting hair-pulling rage-inducing barking has filled me with dread. It's started already and it's only April. I might get a reprieve when the weather takes an inevitable brief turn for the worse (I fully expect a surprise snowstorm or a string of 45-degree, rainy days), but eventually it will be all warm, all the time, and all hope for salvation and a peaceful summer will be lost.
So. Anyone know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy...?
Southeast Michigan has recently been blessed with a burst of uncharacteristically pleasant weather. Each day this week has been a joyful combination of sun and warm temperatures. Spring breezes carry the scent of burgeoning life as plants and soil awaken from their winter slumber. My early morning runs no longer take place in the cold, still darkness; a riotous chorus of robins and other early-rising birds accompanies me. I have thrown open my house's windows to let the fresh air circulate (which also blows all the cat fur tumbleweeds down the hall and reminds me that I need to vacuum).
Opening my winter-stale house to the warm spring air has, however, reintroduced to my life the only thing I don't like about living in my otherwise peaceful neighborhood:
The World's Most Annoying Dog (also known as: That Shitty Little Fucking Yappy Piece of Shit Motherfucking Rat Dog).
I'm not a huge fan of dogs in general. I have a low opinion of poorly-behaved asshole dogs who act like their often similarly poorly-behaved asshole owners (imagine that), like the asshole dog that bit me on my arm last year (those teeth left marks which are still visible). I like dogs the same way I like very small children: fun to play with for a while, but I'm glad I can give them back to their handlers when it's time to go home (especially if they start to act up and/or need a diaper changed, a scenario which may apply both to humans and canines). The only exceptions are my brother and sister-in-law's dog Maya (whom I refer to as "the best dog ever," because she totally is) and my little nephew (who was joined this week by his new baby brother, making me an aunt two times over!). I can cuddle with Maya for hours and when Little Nephew refers to me as "Ra-ra" I turn into a puddle.
Anyway, despite my committed lifelong cat person-ness (save the "crazy cat lady jokes," I only have two cats, not two dozen) I can tolerate and enjoy most dogs. (I just don't want to live with one.)
Not this one.
I hate this dog, The World's Most Annoying Dog (WMAD), with the fire of a thousand suns. I daydream about ways in which this dog could be wiped off the face of the earth. A stray piece of airplane debris, perhaps? My town is in the approach path (albeit 40 miles out) for Detroit Metro Airport, so it's not completely outside the realm of possibility. How about a meteorite? It could totally happen! Lightning strike! Sinkhole! Dognappers! Falling tree branch! Red-tailed hawk! Anything!
Those of you who know me as a soft-hearted animal lover who cries at ads for the Humane Society or ASPCA (damn Sarah McLachlan!) and who has approximately 800 pictures of her cats on her iPhone are probably mystified and a little disturbed. Maybe you're mystified in general because I rarely rant about anything not running-related. Maybe you're just disturbed, in which case, seek professional help.
Let's just say I hide it well, unless you happen to be a helpless passenger in my car while I'm driving. Then you will be hit full-force with the extent of my commentary on all the FUCKING IDIOTS who share the road with me. Blunt-force road rage!
Not today. Not this time. I need to vent, and vent BIG. Like, catastrophic Mt. St. Helens explosive volcanism with bonus pyroclastic flow (now with extra chunky flaming boulders!) kind of big.
Back to the WMAD. First of all, this...thing...can barely be called a dog. My cats are bigger than it. Darwin could kick its ass just by lying on top of it in a nonviolent feline coup. I think it's a miniature or toy something-or-another, maybe a Doberman pinscher. Suffice to say it's the size of a loaf of bread or my Barbie horse from when I was little. Thus, it obeys one of the cardinal rules of caninedom: The smaller the dog, the yappier and more high-pitched its voice. This is the smallest dog I've ever seen; therefore, it is the yappiest dog I've ever come across.
Let's sum up so far: warm weather, open windows, yappy dog three doors down...do you see where this is going?
This is what I heard for a large chunk of Wednesday afternoon and evening as I was TRYING to enjoy hanging out in my house with the windows open for the first time since early November (yes, the windows were closed for five months. Welcome to Michigan!):
YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP
This is what I heard Thursday at 5:45 am after I slept with my windows open:
YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP
I think you get the idea.
Imagine that sound drilling into your brain for HOURS upon HOURS. Imagine hearing that shrill ceaseless shrieking as you lie exhausted on your bed after an 18- or 20-mile training run, desperate for a nap, but unable to fine a shred of peace because that FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT DOG WILL. NOT. SHUT. UP. And for those of you wondering why I didn't close the windows: even with them closed, I can still hear it. Additionally, it's my house and if the weather's nice and I want to have the windows open, then I'm going to have my damn windows open. And there's no fucking way I'm wearing earplugs to sit on my couch and read a book. That's just stupid.
I must justifiably direct a large part of my ire at the "owners," who stick the poor dog in their backyard, attached to an overhead wire, and leave it there alone for hours. No dog deserves that. It's clearly bored or anxious and wants to be with its people, and voices its displeasure by standing by their back door barking (I can see into their yard from certain of my second-floor windows). If you're going to have a dog and ignore it all day, then why even have a dog, you morons? Get a cat; they can deal with being left alone and often want to be left alone. Cats don't freak out if you leave the room. You might leave, come back five hours later, and they haven't even moved. Darwin and Boo might take a moment to look at me as if to say, "Oh, you were gone? I didn't even notice." Plus cats are way quieter.
Additionally, HOW in the WORLD do they not know how disruptive, rude, and insensitive it is to their neighbors to leave their dog outside to yap endlessly? Are these people fucking clueless braindead IDIOTS? I THINK SO. There's no other explanation. Any respectable dog owners with half an ounce of common sense know not to allow their dog to bark nonstop. My next-door neighbors have an Old English sheepdog. It's a big dog with a big bark. It likes to bark at things. They, however, quickly shut it down with a firm "No!" or let it back inside after it's woofed at a few squirrels, falling leaves, me getting into my car, the air passing by...Suffice to say, even though it's exasperating when that dog barks at me when I'm going up the stairs in my house, they have their shit together when it comes to responsible dog ownership.
I dread what's coming this summer. Every weekend the WMAD will be in its yard yapping. It happened last year and I thought I was going to lose my mind. We had such a mild summer that I only ran my air conditioner a handful of times; the rest of the time I kept my windows open. Each Saturday and Sunday I would hope for just one day where I didn't have to listen to that yappy fucker spreading its aural poison around the neighborhood. Occasionally the stars would align and the gods smiled down and the WMAD was nowhere to be heard. Ah, blissful silence! I could hear the breeze rustling the trees, hear the birds chirping, hear my own thoughts.
The other 5 bajillion days I spent muttering "Shut up shut up shut up shut up for the love of fucking god, PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP
I've composed anonymous letters in my head countless times. They always begin: "Dear Dumbasses..." (or "Dear So-Called Owners of the World's Most Annoying Dog...") I've thought about how I could cover my tracks in sending this letter. (I'm not telling.) I've envisioned front-porch confrontations. (No one dies; I'm not that violent.) I've indulged in fantasizing about much more nefarious and unsavory and un-Sarah McLachlanesque ways of dealing with the problem (think flamethrowers). The problem with that is when I have reduced the WMAD to a smoldering pile, letting silence reign over the neighborhood, my heart is pounding and I feel lightheaded from adrenaline. (Power daydreams: try them!)
They've created a monster with their stupidity and the entire neighborhood has to pay the price. I can't possibly be the only one who is harboring a deep and secret hatred.
I just don't know what to do. The prospect of another summer marred by brain-melting hair-pulling rage-inducing barking has filled me with dread. It's started already and it's only April. I might get a reprieve when the weather takes an inevitable brief turn for the worse (I fully expect a surprise snowstorm or a string of 45-degree, rainy days), but eventually it will be all warm, all the time, and all hope for salvation and a peaceful summer will be lost.
So. Anyone know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy...?
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