Everything Will Be Ok

God. Sometimes, when looking at my blog I just click on "next blog" with the ridiculous hope that I'll come across something brilliant enough to take up the next half hour of my time. But alas, this is never the case. Instead it's just a giant picture of a dirty faced kid with the first line of writing saying something about how everyone needs to be updated on my offspring. SHOOT ME.

Ok, don't shoot me. That might be the Rex Goliath talking. But seriously. What is with the mommy blog? I must admit I'm a little sad that Santi is out of my life for good because I'm considering that a mock mommy blog in reference to a dog instead of children is a money making idea. I just don't have the resources that were once available to me. I'm ok with this though. You know why?

Because. At work I've been talking to a lot of people in a lot of different situations. Some are struggling with their instructors. Some are struggling with what they want to do with their life. Some are struggling with licensure. Some are struggling with online learning as a whole. And at the end of the day I can take comfort in one thing:

I'm happy with where I am right now.

I don't want to be in school. I am ok with the fact that I don't have a kid or a husband. I'm feeling good about my job and my friends and my social life. I've got down time, I've got plans. I've got interests, I've got boredom. I've got the city, I've got the country. I've really got everything a girl could ask for.

This weekend I plan on going home and really taking some time for myself. The best part about North Dakota is that you can go literally out into the middle of nowhere and have quiet and solitude at your disposal. It's really a beautiful thing. And it's something I never realized I had there until I left. I might just take a bottle of wine out to the Golf Ball or some other secluded place and drink it and think and ponder and appreciate everything I have in my life at this moment. The freedom, the friends, the romance, the experiences. It's rather ironic that a single, childless lady of my age is going to a land of young marriage, babies, and having a husband to take care of you to appreciate my independence and the wondrous opportunity that lies before me.

Ok, the Rex Goliath is taking over, blog. I'm going to to turn in. It's certainly time, isn't it...

Blog, Welcome the Poofs

And now, poofs, I will drink and write.

I'm cat sitting for my friend Alair. It's really been a nice change of pace. I get to stay in a super sweet apartment downtown with two persian cats who kind of hate me. It's like being on a mini vacation where I still have to go to work every day and crack open a couple cans of fancy feast at the behest of felines with mush faces. It is strangely reminiscent of my days back in Maple Grove what with my watching Intervention on demand with mush face animals staring at me. However these mush faces are nothing compared to the joy that was/is Santiago (yes, I lost him in the break up, he is Ryan's dog and probably the biggest heartbreak of all when I think about it). I don't mean this in any offense to Alair. And also, they really are no comparison to begin with since they are cats and not a pug dog who loves me with all his little pug heart. I think I'm growing on them though. Today one made the move to sit on the couch while I was also sitting on it. The other, last night jumped into bed with me and made me pet him for awhile before quietly slipping away into the closet. I consider these small victories since when I first was here they wouldn't even allow themselves to be in the same room as me. Oh cats. You're so moody and strange. You take such patience. Well, you're lucky (or perhaps cursed, I'm not sure how you feel about me yet). I'm here allll week. Get used to it. I'm like a taller, midwestern/scandanavian version of your mom. Only I'm not working on my dissertation nor am I about to marry a guy and move to North Carolina. But other than that, the similarities are kind of endless, if you keep our similarties to the fact that at the moment we are both academic advisors at Capella.

Anyhow, blog. I'm working to get the poofs accustomed to my personal habits. Like drinking and writing in you. They may think I'm working on my very own dissertation, which is cool. If a couple of cats think I'm smart enough to be writing a dissertation, I can deal with that. But it's not true poofs. I'm just blogging. Way less cool, but perhaps just as lucrative? Only time will tell. And what does it matter? You, like Santiago, are illiterate. I don't care how much you judge me from that coffee table Chew Chew, you can't read. I know you can't because at the end of the day you're a cat. But you know what you can do Chew? You can jump up on the counter that is like 15 times your height and that is amazing. I can't do that.

Wow. Yeah. Not to bring up the heartbreak that occurred back in October, but I've moved into the acceptance stage of everything and Ryan really isn't on my mind much anymore at all. Am I completely over him? Probably not. But I know I'm over him enough to where I don't have to worry about bringing him up at every turn. That's kind of liberating to know...

But the thing that has emerged from this drawback of heartbreak is that I never really mourned the loss of Santiago in all of this. He may be more difficult to get over too because I know he loves me with all his pug heart still. He never did anything to me. He never wanted me out of his life. I know if I saw him again, he'd be really happy to see me and would jump up on me and snort and wag his tail. I'd crouch down to his level and kiss his little pug head and let him lick my face. I'd pick him up and give him a hug and then I'd find a toy for him to chase for five minutes until he's ready to hyperventilate. Then he'd curl up with me on a couch and fall asleep, snoring the evening away. Well, that's what it was like every day when I'd come home from work anyway. I'd imagine it would be something like that if I were ever to see him again.

That dog would follow me around every day. I'd cook in the kitchen and sing to him. "Santiago, Santiago, you're so cute, and adorable." I know, my lyrics are really original. I'd change the sheets on the bed and he'd be there. I'd go downstairs to vacuum, he'd be there. Click click click click would go his little nails on the hardwood floor. Snort snort snort all night long. He was such a good dog. Always when I was cleaning, he'd be there watching me, keeping me company. And when I needed him to get out of my way, he was always ready to cooperate by going into his cage. What a good friend indeed.

I shouldn't drink and write with poofs nearby. They are sweet in their own way, but they also make me think back to the last time I shared a living space with an animal and make me sad. It doesn't help to know that Santiago is currently being pet-sat himself and I'm not the one doing it. But at least I can verify my self worth with keeping Noodles and Chew Chew alive over the next week. I have a feeling come Saturday or Sunday or whenever Alair gets back from her love fest with the fiance, I'm going to be a little sad to say goodbye. I think right now, they are learning about me just as much as I'm learning about them.

Poofs? You guys are going to have so much fun with me here. We're going to continue to drink and write every night and you guys are going to curl up with me at some point, I don't care how much you judge me. You know it Noodles. I saw how much you wanted to sit with me on the couch earlier. Don't deny yourself the pleasure of cuddling with me, poof. You and I both know you'll cave sooner than later. For now I'll continue to do my thing whilst you both do your own. But know that I'm ready for pets and cuddles whenever you are because I know what it's like to be without.

Santiago is My Son

I remember when I first started you blog, I came up with the idea that I'd cater to all those mommy bloggers out there in an attempt to grow a base of readers that was worthwhile. Since I have no husband, no children, and no desire to mutate my body via pregnancy, my only means of catering to the mommies is by writing about my boyfriend's pug Santiago as if he were my adorable and precious son. I've since given up on obtaining any sort of a reader base with this pathetic nonsense, but I still find the idea of writing about my boyfriend's pug as my child amusing.

So anyway, I caught Santiago doing the cutest thing today! I accidentally left him in the bedroom alone because I'd like to think he and I have built up some trust since I became his "new mommy". I walked into the room after my shower expecting to find him curled up on the bed for naptime, but instead he was nowhere to be found. I had a mini heart attack thinking he had somehow rolled off the bed and had been knocked unconscious. However upon further inspection I found him laying in my pile of dirty laundry chewing on a pair of dirty underwear. It was the cutest thing! He looked up with that face that had "I didn't do it" written all over it. How adorable! Then I threw my clothes at him and yelled "Bad dog!" because he's a dog and in all reality I think it's nasty that he chews on my dirty undergarments. Gross.

Ok, so I can only pretend Santiago is my son to a certain extent. But it's a start, right? Maybe for my next "Santiago as my Son" entry, I can craft a collection of photos of him with comments written about how he is the most precious little miracle God could have given me and note how he has his father's stature.

On a side note that has nothing to do with anything, my newly grown fingernails are driving me CRAZY!!! Must cut/chew soon. At least I won't be chewing dirty underwear like someone in this household.

Groups of Bad and Good

It's funny how it seems like when it rains it pours when it comes to crappity crap happening to you. Like those weeks where you're late to work, your car breaks down, and you go negative in your bank account all at once. But you know the good part about all of this? A) Those things haven't happened to me all in a week... yet.  B) The same is true for good stuff too!

I just got back from the magical land of Mexico (pronounced the 'H' sound that all the locals use). It was pretty swell. Me and the BF laid back on the beach, got a magnificent sunburn, and had adventures with snorkeling, turtles, and some very drunk yet polite Argentinians. It was a great break from real life and I told the man who loaded my luggage into the cab yesterday that he is very lucky to live where he lives. Despite the 3rd worldness of the country, it is still warm and colorful and lovely and I wanted to stay there forever and learn spanish. Of course, I cannot do this and must be here in Minnesota in my gray cube with my gray sweater and coat and clouds. So it goes...

But while I was away, a few things were brewing at home for me to come home to! It makes coming back less awful and more exciting! First of all, I found out I won an award! An award for lil' ole me! I never win stuff, so this was exciting to hear about. I randomly took part in a film festival that my friend Nate had signed up for. He wrote a little diddy about a dude going on an online date and it going terribly awry. I had the task of playing the role of said date. As a result I got a vat of cheese poured on me, froze in the cold for a good 45 minutes and had to lay in bed with two men, neither of which are my boyfriend. But it was all worth it because in the end I somehow ended up with the Best Actress award! I guess I still got the old speech skills I honed in high school. I only wish I could have been there to accept it. Oh well. It was a fun surprise to come home to. That and it was nice to finally see the finished product that I was so lucky to have been a part of.

Surprise number two came when I checked my voicemail last night after a long trip home. I had two messages. The first was to be expected. Visa was freaking its shit out because I decided to go to Mexico, get drunk, and tell my boyfriend the incorrect code for my debit card. Boyfriend tried and tried to no avail to withdraw pesos from a gas station in Cancun, therefore a Visa robot called me and told me there has been suspicious activity on my card. Turns out, as it usually turns out, I am the one performing the suspicious activity. No more giant vodka sevens for Mantha. They only amount to suspicous debit card behavior and my boyfriend taking a shot from my cleavage.

ANYWAY the second message on my phone was from a very chipper girl named Andrea who has "wonderful news" for me in regards to my recent interview and application process for an academic advising position I've been trying to get. I'd love to take this "wonderful news" and say that I have a new job that pays me more dollars (and pesos if I'm in Mayhico), but I haven't received a solid answer on this so I can't let myself jump to conclusions for fear of being somehow ridiculously crushed. I don't know of anyone who has ever been ridiculously crushed by "wonderful news", but that combined with my award and my recent vacation in Mexico just seems like too many good things at once. I've got to start watching my back. Worst of all, both of the HR girls I've been in contact with during this process are out of the office. This means I must wait until tomorrow to hear my eventual demise. (Or reprise? I really want to use a word that sounds like demise but is opposite. Oh well)

One crappy thing that has happened is that I have over 100 work emails to sift through. I've barely gotten through half. I should call it quits on this lunch hour and get back to it. I should also make a serious point to learn Spanish so the next time I go to Mayhico I don't get jipped out of dollars (and pesos) just because I have no idea what is going on. Oh, and another crappy thing (if I were the suspicious kind, which I'm generally not) is that I have exactly $666.00 in my bank account. At least I don't have a black cat and just have a Santiago...

Tiny Noses Are Beautiful

Tiny noses. It's all the rage! I love The Biggest Loser just as much as the next guy. I do my best to watch it every Tuesday (when I don't have improv) and I can't get enough of the weight loss that is the main factor of the show's ratings.

But I noticed something tonight. Tiny noses, bitches. All the people on this show have tiny noses! There is not one big schnoz present! This feeds my theory (one that I have not expressed yet in you blog, that is until now) that The Biggest Loser has the ability to find fat people who have an exorbetant amount of potential to look highly attractive when and if they ever end up skinny. You can see it in their faces from day one. I find myself saying "She'd be pretty if she lost weight" all the time with this show. I firmly believe this has to do with the small nose. Of course all fat people are going to look like they have a small nose, but on the other end of things, you know a big nose when you see one. Even though the weight of the current contestants of The Biggest Loser might actually be working in their favor when it comes to their nose, there is no doubt about it that everyone on the show has an small sized snout.

Check it bitches and hos (and yes, I'm slightly under the influence, otherwise you'd be ladies and gentlemen).

Small nose on fat person + working out with Jillian = hotties. God forbid TV ever has anyone average, or even ugly looking on it. Remember that show I was planning on auditioning for? You know, the Shakespeare one at the Anoka Community Theater? Yeah. I auditioned. And after a call back, and a discussion of "lead time" with the director, I didn't get in. At all. I'm confident in my performance skills. I have a minor in theater. I am educated in the methods of performing--not just reading--Shakespeare. I do improv every week. What could I possibly be lacking? I'll tell you. Cuteness. I'm not tiny. I'm not blonde. Luckily I have a small nose. It's the only feature I've got going for me performance wise. Seriously. This small nose thing is across the board. Why else is Santiago the Pug so freaking adorable all the time?

Tiny nose. It'll get you places. Now I just have to make the rest of me tiny...

What is the point of this entry? I'm not sure. But I watched The Biggest Loser. I observed. And this is my conclusion. The one constant of hotness is tiny noses. I'm also intoxicated thanks to my birthday being on Friday and my dear friend Sam (not me) insisting on buying me margaritas. Don't be jealous (although I hope you are).

I live in Maple Grove. Yikes.

Facebook and Pee

I've sunk to a new low and have created a facebook page for Santiago, my dogboyson. I think I'm going through a phase with this dog. He is so freaking cute to me right now, I feel I must share it with the world. If you'd like to friend Santiago, you go right ahead.  There is no shame in friending a dog on facebook. There is also no shame in maintaining a dog's facebook page on is behalf. Because really, everything in Santiago's information section of his profile is absolutely true.

On a completely seperate note, don't you just hate it when you've settled in at your desk, and then you realize you have to pee like a mo fo? That is what is happening at this very moment. What's even worse is that the bathroom is right next to my desk. It's like a 2 second walk over there and alas, I feel no desire outside of my aching bladder to leave this very spot. And this is why we are all obese. And that is why I'm going to the gym today.

Santiago and Variations

Despite the busy happenings of my job, I will post this post. I realized I started this blog with an exorbitant amount of pictures of Santigo Falk, my boyfriend's dog. I decided it's been too long. Just much too long since we've seen a picture of my dogboyson. So without further ado, I present Santiago and Variations:

Oh man. That is so fun to see all the variations of Santiago in his hat. I bet you are all jealous of how I got my hands on such awesome variations of my simple photo I took of him looking miserable in his winter garb. Well, let me tell you my secret, blog. I know a guy who knows a guy. Actually, I have a friend. One of my best friends. She's an artist and a pretty good one at that. She's got mad skills for making art as you can clearly see. Check her out at her website on Etsy or maybe her other website that she has created all by herself. I'm sure if you contacted her with a picture of your dogboyson, she'd be happy to create such variations for a reasonable negotiated price. Her name is Carly. She's also tall and lives in England. Jealous yet? Ok. This will get you then. She's BFF with ME!

Was this entry a plug for Carly, or just an attempt to begin writing regularly in you blog? Well, I guess that's for you to decide.

I'm Not a Mom.

Hey Blog. So I'm poking around this thing called blogger and I've noticed moms hang out on here a lot. Is this because they stay at home with kids and use things like blogs to release the pent up happenings of the day? I'm not a mom. Actually, if you read my first entry that directs you to my statement on the right hand side over there, you'll see that I don't really want to be a mom any time soon. I in fact like being the primary person I take care of in my life. Call me selfish, but don't call me a liar, because that's the truth.

I think the closest thing I have to relate to the moms with is my boyfriend's dog Santiago. I also mentioned him in my first entry. Maybe I should post a bunch of pictures of him doing "cute" things like standing on the floor and sitting on the couch and being in a basket or something. Then I could fit in with the moms. Kind of. My baby snorts and is covered in hair and poops and pees outside. Does that count?

He's not thinking that caption, he just looks like that caption.

OMG! He's in his cage!

OMG! He's celebrating the 4th of July!

OMG! He used to be a baby!

Whoa. Blog, I just realized you are slowly yet surely becoming Santiago themed what with my first two entries containing a ridiculous amount of pictures of him, and my profile picture being of me holding him. This has got to stop, stat. Then again, how else will I fit in with the moms? Especially if I don't want to be one?!?!?! Blog, you are difficult to get used to. But I'll venture on. I think I'll also continue writing in my non-Santiago themed livejournal.

I just wrote an entry in my old blog (aka Livejournal)

You can click on the link I have in the statement I've made on the right hand side of this page to read it. Also, if you read the statement on the right hand side of the page, it will explain to you why I wrote in my Livejournal and not my new blog. Do I make sense? Probably not. But that's how I roll when I write.

Here's a picture of my dog. It's not really my dog. It's my boyfriend's dog. And it's not an it. It's actually a him/he. But animals in general don't need gender specification as much as people do. Call him what you like, but his real name is Santiago Falk.