GPS is making me stupid

I guess I don't know how to read maps.

I mean I *thought* I could read maps. Since I'm usually the one navigating via atlas when Bubba and I drive somewhere and we usually end up where we're planning to go without having make a hundred *safe* U-turns or anything.

But I guess I *can't read a map* because I managed to get Jada and I lost in the hills where there were, like, five trails.

I set out to hike around the park on Sunday morning thinking, "Hey, I'll get the dog out and we'll both get some exercise in nature and won't this be nice."

I even consulted the trail map with the ranger for godssake. Granted, I listened to about every fifth word he said since I was distracted by the big scary Beware of Mountain Lions sign nailed up next to the map, but from my angle the trail map looked all simple and what could go wrong.

I should have known the direction our morning would take when Jada built a log cabin about 5/10 mile into our walk, meaning I got to hump a blue bag of doots for the duration. Goodie.

We then proceeded to hike up some decent grades, the strenuousness of which I was not adequately warned, and then plummeted down a drop-off in the trail that had both Jada and I scrabbling to keep ourselves upright without the assistance of our asses.

But hey, we were moving, we were sweating lightly, the views were nice, I was taking pictures and we were en-route. All was well. Then, 1.5 miles into our hike we hit an unnecessarily confusing trail merge where two of three trail markers were of the same name.

As in:

Trail Option 1: Mine Hill Trail
Trail Option 2: something else
Trail Option 3: Mine Hill Trail

Huh?

Instead of tackling this issue head on, we decided to take a breather so that Jada could rip-off another dog's water (meaning I wouldn't have to pry her portable bowl from my pack myself - lazy) and I could make random dog banter with a couple girls who'd set up house at the one picnic bench in the park.

When they asked me which direction I was heading and I said "Mine Hill Trail" while pointing in the direction of the ravine behind me, I shouldn't have been surprised when they looked at me like that.

In a moment of Navigational Ego Preservation, I collected Jada from her shady under-bench retreat and darted off in the direction of the first "Mine Hill Trail" signpost at the speed of shame. 1 in 2 chance right?

Wrong.

I hiked us for about a mile uphill in the wrong direction before I realized that even though I kept seeing our trail on the signposts, it was clear that this trail was not our trail and I'd better do something about it before we fell into the Lost and Stranded in the World's Easiest to Navigate Park category. Thankfully making the decision to turn around and head back the way we came was made easier by the fact that it would be downhill. Bonus!

Then we passed the two chicks from the picnic bench who were looking all confident and knowledgeable in their trail following and not at all like the bumbling, map-clutching tard I was becoming.

Although when they consulted my map (of course I had to show them the map) they, too, agreed that having two trails named the same was a mite confusing and don't feel bad they'd have made the same mistake.

Who said anything about a mistake?

Anyhoo, Jada and I managed to successfully retrace our steps to the totally unclear trail merge so we could then confidently take the proper trail since we'd already exhausted our other similarly named option.

Progress!

She built another log cabin, which I bagged and packed, and we hiked without incident down the hill and back to the car. No mountain lions and not really any worse for wear. Except for the faint waft of doots coming from the backpack and the fact I felt like a moron for managing to choose incorrectly in a 50/5o scenario, all was well. We had exercised in nature, man! Wee!

Meanwhile, I ran nine miles on Saturday for the first time ever and without getting lost thankyouverymuch. Likely thanks to the fact that the park service doesn't name our streets. I guess I'm weird in that I expect three different streets to have three different names.

Whatever.

It should have been raining

I definitely had The Guilt when I dragged out the sewing machine and three totes of fabric with the full intention of spending the most beautiful day of the year holed up inside working on sewing projects. I don't know why 80+ degree temperatures inspire me to do things like this.

Sure, Rocket could have cared less, since she spends her days languishing half-awake on all the squooshy surfaces in our house anyway, but Jada was definitely looking at me like I'd knocked my melon loose during our morning walk. Sure, that could have been from being half-dragged toward a fleeing squirrel, but she wasn't taking responsibility for my new found sense of Hermititis. Oh no.

Of course, though, I started to feel guilty about keeping the creatures indoors on such a beautiful day, so I let them out into the yard to soak it up while I steadied myself behind the tower of fabric on my dining room table.

This compromise was acceptable to all and Rocket was diligent in her quest to OWN the dog. Which she does, in no uncertain terms.

You'll see here how Rocket has her gaze fixed firmly on Jada. This is common. If Jada moves in any direction that is unpalatable to Her Highness Rocket, she hisses Jada right back into line. We're just glad to have Rocket's bossiness projected on a being other than us. It is tiring to be constantly baring yourself against bloodthirsty Rocket attacks. She is not a nice animal, generally.


As the creatures relaxed happily in the backyard, I rode the sewing machine through five sewing projects until I finally broke another needle - signalling the end of my sewing day. Is it a bad sign that I've broken two needles in as many months? Perhaps now is the time to share with you another one of my nicknames: "The Queen of Forcing It". Yes, Bubba has coined this very flattering nickname and uses it whenever I'm in the throes of making an inanimate object obey my will.

In this case, the object was my sewing machine and my will was "sewing a seam through the base of the zipper pull".

Oops.

Tip: Sewing needles can not penetrate metal zippers. Sew *around* them. Oh. Right.

No worries though. Before this fated incident I managed to complete some long overdue projects:

A fitting dog bed for the pooch from the Amy Butler Floor Cushion pattern

The requested pillowcase from the Surprise Cowboys fabric

A sunglass case from Big Pillow scraps

A fitting prize for the winner of the "What the fuck do I do with all this fabric?!" contest from Amy Butler's Recipe Card Holder pattern

and a soon to be finished Cabo Halter for a certain special friend of mine from the remnant (read: full bolt) of fabric left from my first Cabo Halter endeavour last year.

Yes, it was the invisible zipper on this blessed garment that refused to yield to the force of my sewing machine. Loser. Anyway, I forged ahead to the point of the final hem, but then suddenly lost momentum and decided it would be best if I broke down shop, cleaned up the detritus of the days projects and took the dog for a walk away from the encroaching cat.

Sometimes I do this. Just decide, mid-seam/stitch/brushstroke that I'm done. I don't want to move forward a single moment longer on the project at hand because I know nothing good can come from my continued progress. I will only make a mess/break something/scream bad words/hurt myself or others/ruin something beyond repair.

At moments like these it is best to stop and focus my attentions elsewhere. Like on a G&T, or the dog leash.

After taking Jada for another "We love to chase squirrels by lunging into oncoming traffic and nearly smashing our skulls" walk, I was ready to return to the sewing machine, but decided to wait it out.

I had a G&T waiting, after all.

Happy Birthday. NO, REALLY. Super all the way happy!

When Bubba asked me, like a month ago or whatever, what I wanted to do for my birthday, I told him that I wanted to go backpacking.

Like last year, but this time we bring Jada. And we go somewhere where I can swim! Yes! I want to swim in a high mountain lake with the dog! And you, too, Bubbs - if you wanna swim. 

I'm very inclusive.

Er...no, but OK, said Bubba, and he set off to find a good place for us to go that would allow dogs since stupid awesomely beautiful and fun Yosemite is not OK with dogs. Probably because of the bears and the whole "dogs attract bears" thing and such.

Pffttt...bears.

Though I don't *really* want to have my face enjoyed as a midnight bear snack...

So, Bubba planned a great sounding trip where we'd hike up to a nice lake so Jada and I could swim and he could sit on the shore and throw shit at us because he's not as super into the swimming thing like we are.

We being Jada and I, you know. Me + the dog = swimming buddies.

Last Friday night we got all our shit shoved into our packs and Jada's food stuffed into her pack and tah-dow! we were ready to go.

Until we woke up Saturday morning and it was raining.

Shit snacks.

So, we punted.

I mean, I'm all for Be a Hardcore Camper and such when you're stuck out in it,  but it was hard to stand in the clean, dry comfort of the cabin and be all, "Yes. I want to hike myself, a 30 lb pack and a dog up a muddy mountain trail so that I can swim in a cold snowmelt lake while it rains and then sleep in a tent with Wet Dog Smell." when I could instead be all, "Let's stay in the cozy cabin, make waffles, bake bread, drink beer, let the dog run amok in the woods after which I can dry her off with a beach towel and then we go watch the Giants game with the neighbors."

Needless to say, Bubba was all about it, too. No one wants to sleep in a tent with Wet Dog Smell.

Guess I'll be unpacking these packs then.

Boo rain.

And then Bubba, Jada, the neighbors and everyone kept trying to *make me feel better* because I was missing out on my birthday backpacking trip.

Because making waffles, baking bread, making another (BETTER!) batch of lip balm, playing with a happy dog and watching baseball makes me so sad.

I resisted at first, and kept saying things like, "No, it's totally fine! I'm happy, see?" while smiling big and aggressively hugging the dog, but then it became something of a personal quest for Bubba to make sure that the birthday weekend fulfilled my birthday wishes, so I just let it happen.

I know what will make you feel better! BACON!

And a birthday present! Down booties!

And a big stack of waffles!

And a freshly caught squirrel! (Look - we're in the woods, she's a dog doing a dog thing - I don't want to hear your shrieking.)

Actually, mom, can I get that squirrel back? I think I left the tag on it. Yeah...that's it.

BLTs! Those make you happy!

On freshly baked bread!

And then, on Sunday, when the weather was P.E.R.F.E.C.T. - the *consoling* continued in earnest even though my face was creased from a rainy Saturday full of smiling big and the dog was bruised from all my semi-convincing happy hugging.
 

You love the beach! Let's go there.

I've even scheduled some special birthday guests. No, stop crying, it's not a clown.

Let me entertain you - I'll go scare all these stupid seagulls...

Fly away you sumbitches! That's a birthday ORDER!

Baby, they didn't fly away. I'm sorry about your birthday entertainment.

So entertained.

So, yeah, Birthday Not-Backpacking Weekend was a total success and I wasn't sad for even a minute.

Obviously.

Though when I came home, I found that the garden had not received the memo and was still concerned about my birthday feelings. Even after I hugged the dog right in front of them.

All of this pollen is for you. Surprise!

We made this for you while you were gone. Surprise!

Bet you didn't think we could get this big, didja? Surprise!

We've made friends, the volunteer cucumber and I. Surprise!

DONG!

Here, we got you something. 17 lbs of something.

No, really, we like the food you made for us. Ummmyummyumm...

We've been waiting for a special occasion. Surprise!

Thanks, guys.

So, today I celebrated by hanging out in the garden for 2+ hours, maxing out my big food processor making The Best Sauce Ever. Yep. and eating the finest tomato sandwich in creation.

Why yes, that IS blue cheese on that sandwich.

Happy Birthday to ME.

 Later, Bubba is going to take me out with the three dimensional people for a proper meal during which time I will wear a new dress and drink as many cocktails as I want plus also eat nice food prepared by a qualified chef.

If only I could have a decent birthday. *Sigh*

KIDDING! No, really - I'm SUPER ALL THE WAY HAPPY!

Hey, where's the dog going?

Definitely not boring or sad

Um, right - so Jada.

This dog - she's taking years off my life is how much I love this girl.

I dare you to not adore me. GO ON TRY IT.

Because a few weeks ago, right after Bubba took off for a week's trip to London, girlfriend had a majorly bizarre meltdown of the butthole variety that very nearly wiped me from this planet with worrying.

See, if you've followed her exploits over the years, you know that she's basically bulletproof.

She backcountry skis.

She hauls 1/3 of her body weight.

She kills and eats every wild thing.

She's also delightfully predictable and reliable and easy going about pretty much everything.

Ride in the car for 2 days to go skiing? This is acceptable with papa scratchins.

Everything except her butthole. Suddenly. Alarmingly.

See, I came home from work one of these Bubbaless nights with the intention of taking her for a walk and returning to sit my living room couch while a friend regaled me with stories of girlfriend catching up.

Which was SO not to be.

Instead, my night was more like taking her for a walk in which she was all sad and weird and then returning to hover around her while she did not eat but instead her butthole took on the look of a baboon's.

Which, no I did not take a picture. THAT'S HOW WORRIED (and horrified) I WAS. NO PICTURES. ONLY WORRYING.

I ended up taking the baboon to the vet and spending the next two days immersed in 4 alarm WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DOG, EXPENSIVE SLOW TALKING VET?! mode and ending up with the very best diagnosis an oncology vet can just ever fucking deliver.

Oncology vet without a sense of humor: Jada has an abnormal colon.

Me: So, you're saying it's not cancer?

Oncology vet without a sense of humor: It's not cancer. The very end of her colon is just abnormally shaped.

Me: So, you're saying that her butthole is weird. Canine Abnormal Butthole Disease.

Oncology vet without a sense of humor: It's not a disease. It's just an abnormally shaped colon.

Me: I bet you don't give that diagnosis a lot, huh? "You're dog has a weird butthole, ma'am."

Oncology vet without a sense of humor: It's actually her colon.

Me: I can't believe I've said butthole, like, a hundred times and you haven't laughed once. Come on. This is my coping mechanism. This and drinking.

Oncology vet without a sense of humor: Jada has a weird butthole, yes.

Me: THANK YOU! I need a drink.

Anyway, yeah, the vet really never came all the way around to join me in my coping mechanism humor so I'm just letting it go.

But still - Weird Butthole is the best diagnosis ever. And not just because it's not cancer.

But the real story. Which, surprisingly, is not about weird buttholes or cancer.

Nope...nipples.

As in, Jada was returned to me without any.

Now, I don't know what goes on in super expensive fancy ass oncology veterinarian offices, but nipple shaving off is apparently one of the things.

Again, I don't have pictures, so you're just going to have to take my word for it here, but I'm sure you can imagine my alarm when returning home with my beloved sweet slightly still doped and recently repeatedly ass-probed dog to find, upon belly rubbin's that UM...smooth.

Like, imagine this but with a pink bare belly with six red spots ALL SMOOTH. Creepy.

The hairlessness and pinkness was no surprise. Obviously she has to be shaved before they can do the ultrasound thing to look for cancer in her guts. But the nipplelessness was a surprise.

As were the red spots where her nipples used to be.

THEY SHAVED OFF HER NIPPLES, PEOPLE.

Because apparently her Cleansing Retreat of six enemas, a colonoscopy, a biopsy and ultrasound wasn't enough. They also had to rid her of her pesky dog nipples.

Weird.

It's weird.

But for all of you sweet dog-loving people who have emailed me and Facebook messaged me and texted me - Jada is cancer free and living a life of leisure and homecooked meals.

Seriously. This dog has it fucking made. I'm so worried about her not eating and, thus, sending herself back into Angry Baboon Butthole Let's Go To The Really Expensive Ass Probing Vet land, that I'm basically cooking/preparing/handfuckingcrafting her breakfast and dinner every day.

Making chicken stock in which to cook rice. Shredding chicken to put in said rice. Stockpiling her favorite kibble to mix in the rice. Bubba has been hand choosing the most delicious sounding (and looking - is that wrong?) canned "entrees" to cut with her rice and chicken. Chopping up that Hillshire Farm Sausage looking dog food log thing to mix in with the rice and chicken. Warming it all up so that she gets a good hot meal.

It's so out of control here. I'm certain that we've become those weird pet owners and now I can't judge people who put their dogs on raw food diets and shit because, well, here I am with a slow cooker full of chicken making homemade stock so that she can have her precious delicious chicken rice.

But when I hear the crunching of kibble, it's all worth it.

And phew.

OHMYGODWEFINALLYMOVEDSHITDAMN

So, yeah. We're here. 

In the country.

FUCKINGFINALLYALREADY.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

The bees are here. With a view.

Jada's here. On the horrible carpet. Because she's the only one that likes horrible carpet.

All of our shit is here.

Our hilarious contractor is here pre-filling our new fridge with pink-bowed beer for Bubba.

Jada's new buddies are here

Sure as shit the turkeys are here

I've even cooked a few dinners after stripping clean (except for one. I left one tomato. On each plant. Because I'm a lady.) my vegetable plants. 

I needed help lifting this.

All people use roofing material as a patio coffee table. ALL PEOPLE SHUTTUP.

Weird kitchen with ugly tile countertops and the fabulous fabulous view.

Our Realtor is a hero, awesome and hilarious.

Too bad Jada doesn't love him AT ALL.

What more do you need for move day than (clockwise from bottom left) Fruity Pebbles, Rice Krispies and caramel, cinnamon, dark chocolate old fashioned, bacon maple chocolate, apple fritter, Oreo caramel, dark cherry cordial, sprinkles, strawberry Pocky, glazed old fashioned and salted caramel dark chocolate Rice Krispies donuts? WHAT MORE I ASK?

OK, that also.

Especially after this farewell from San Jose.

Figures.

Jada was the only one that loved the horrible grass.

So, we're here. We're in the country. We're unpacking and adjusting and meeting the neighbors and marveling at how the movers knew exactly how we wanted our furniture arranged. 

Perfect.

We've built a new stairway and deck.

Put on two new roofs. 

Cuddled our painter's dog

Found some good breakfast spots

Hunted turkeys

Hunted turkeys

 and stargazed (while taking shitty pictures with the phone).

And next weekend is my birthday and do you know what I'm doing for my first birthday in our country house?

I'M SETTING UP MY CRAFT ROOM MUTHER FUCKERS.

Yeah. We're going to be just fine "Way out there so far away from everything! What are you going to do?".

Hey, I might even write a meaningful blog post one day. 

MIGHT. 

Good to see you guys, by the way. You look hotter from here anyway.