day 306.

50 days from now I will lay down for my last hip x-ray (well, last one for a WHILE)... and then will sit behind my doctor while she stares and speaks at her monitor saying...

"it looks like you have not gained any weight so that is good, you should be happy"
"these 3 screws look fine and there is no evidence of a fracture"
"why are you crying? this should be good news. you are going to make me look bad on your way out."

...followed by elaborate surgeon-jargon I will not understand nor remember... if I even hear it at all.

the waiting room, lab, little hard-plastic offices with old fishing magazines and shiny chrome devices... are articulately detailed in my brain from many nervous and tearful visits. recalling them paints a wince on my face - a wince which has matured in to more-than-a-few small wrinkles over the last 10 months.

there are several recoveries this injury has prompted.
...my bone has needed to heal and allow blood to flow.
...my hip flexor rips have needed to fill back in with more magical hip flexor.
...my emotions need to be grasped, broken down, calmed down, cooled down, and put down.

when I hit the pavement on September 13th, I did not cry... or at least, I do not remember crying. Rai asked if I was able to ride back home or at least walk to the sidewalk. and I responded by pivoting my spandex-sealed butt out of the road like a monkey, thus confirming the walking and riding were not possible.

when 3 nurses lifted me from the wheelchair to a bed, my eyes pinched shut (because not seeing equates to not feeling) and I put the subsequent yell of pain the politest way that I could.

when the doctor told me I needed surgery and hardware installed ..."but don't worry, the screws are not from Home Depot"... everything fell out of my eyeballs and I choked on spit and air and forthcoming difficulties and bad surgery jokes.

for the next month, my shit was lost about 20 times a day. my friend who is a nurse visited me one afternoon right as an ugly-cry was gaining momentum. I was a messy pile of assumptions... assumptions that I was not healing properly; I would no longer be able to ride my bike; no more triathlons; no more fundraising races; my dog will hate me; my boyfriend will dump me; me and my bum hip will never find another partner; my friends will leave me because I need so much help; the only people who will love me after all of this will be my parents.

fast forward through many Netflix months later...

the pity-party rave my brain was having quieted.

friends and family held me tight and patiently eased me through new challenges. care packages, notes, and phone calls reminded me I would be okay. the breakdowns became less frequent and I shakily started balancing on those 1 inch road bicycle tires again.

in 50 days it will have been a year... which is what my surgeon quoted as the time required for full recovery. the last time I wanted a year to pass so quickly, I was a teenager in high school sweating in my Chemistry Honors class.

thank you to everyone who lent me a helping hand and / or hip.
I am forever grateful for you.

Pico, Azores: 10 to the negative 12th

pasta with meat, wafers with filling, macaroni and cheese, bacalau, bananas from the backyard.

my mom's 82 year old cousin Mariana presented a buffet of foods to us during our after lunch visit. we informed her we had just eaten and were full but in traditional Portuguese fashion, this was taken on as a challenge: 
what food can I offer not-hungry people that will be good enough to make them over-eat?

sweet waffle cookies and a bag of unopen chips came from the next room.
no takers.

bread and Portuguese cheese appeared.
alright, ya got me.

their cheese-crumbed mouths jabbered in Portuguese as I frantically used Mariana's WiFi to get details on our next excursion.
after hearing my whale watching tour this morning was postponed due to weather, I was determined to do at least one amazing thing today.
Gruta das Torres is a 3 mile long lava tube that formed on Pico island in the Azores up to 1500 years ago. I had - weeks earlier - booked us a tour for today at 16:00h. I was going to navigate us there via coordinates (because nothing has addresses here... and if it does, they cannot be trusted), we were going to wear ugly hard hats, wave around utility flashlights, and explore an amazing volcano butthole.
this was going to be.
so.
cool.

after 20 minutes of "no, I do not want to take your 2 dozen bananas but obrigada" and "I'm so full - I don't want another cookie" and finally "OK, one banana, and 4 cookies", we were on the road.

there is only one main road on Pico. and it has no name. it is simply "the main road".
there are only 2 speed limits on Pico. 50 kph and 80 kph. or as my mom calls them "slow down" and "SLOW DOWN!"

after a few u-turns and swear words (on my part) we made it to Gruta das Torres right on time.

my proud march of an entrance matched my announcement "my name is on the list - I booked this previously via the interwebs".
"ah," man looks at *the book*. "Kathleen?"
"yes! that's me!"
"yea so, we have a problem"

my spoiled, California, only-child ass wanted to cry.
"a large rock in the ceiling of the cave fell yesterday" he says. 
"we are awaiting specialists to inspect it before allowing any new visitors" he says.
"it is for my safety" he says.

in my brain, I am throwing things; I am telling him I don't think I can ever afford to return here to do this; I am losing confidence in myself; I want to eat 2 dozen bananas and a box of cookies.
we are allowed to wander along the rim, squint in to the dark decaying abyss without seeing anything, and watch a video showing off all the badass shit I am missing out on.

my mom seems content with the change of plans, which adds to my frustration.

kicking rocks back to my rented transport, I mulled over how to get over this.
the velvet cows were startled by my stomping - they thought about moving... but were too lazy and instead, continued nibbling on grass tucked between volcanic rocks.
the air smells of ocean, which shines at me in sunny patches less than 2 miles away.
somewhere birds squawk with a foreign accent.

...nothing is wrong with this.

I had made this trip to be an agenda of adventures revolving around me, and me.
yet my happiest moment thus far was when Mariana, her daughter, and her son-in-law surprised us at a restaurant. they knew we were staying in Lajes and decided to - unbeknownst to us - drive around looking for us. as I Facebooked at an outdoor table with my mom pretending not to watch over my shoulder, the 3 of them walked up with secret smiles, asking if I was Kathleen.
once I realized I was not getting arrested, I cried.

this is why I am here - I just didn't know it at first.

in other news...
...the house we are staying in has hot water for just 10 seconds at a time, fuzzy mold growing on the walls, framed Jesus sketches everywhere, no electricity half of the nights, and the creakiest floors I have ever heard in a horror movie.
but I got my own bed so, all good.
...my Portuguese family thinks I am hysterical because I keep saying "Oh Jesus" in Portuguese (which is simply, "aah Jhejeush"). I'm not sure what that says about either party but, it says something.
...I miss my boyfriend, and my dog.
and you - I miss you too.

142 solitaire matches later...

unexpected thunderSNORES at midnight.
and 3am.
and then 4am.

my feet stress-rubbed together under heavy blankets for about 4 hours last night as thunder raged outside our thin glassed doors and my mom lamaze-snored beside me. in our rented house there is no alternative bed to resort to; no big couch to sprawl on; no alternative.
4 hours later, I was still alive and decided to sleep walk throughout the day. no big deal.

rain sprinkled down in the morning as we nibbled on scrambled eggs and sipped the tastiest cappuccinos. after stocking my mom up with fruit, we set out on our long walk to Vila Nova de Gaia, which means we wandered around narrow roads until I got so lost a local offered help.

after finally finding Taylor's Port house, port was a terrible refreshment. I was hot and irritated and just wanted to poop and have a frozen yogurt. (what's new)
I took 1 (or 3) for the team though and drank my ports while watching my 3 year old neighbor swirl grape juice in his wine glass.

that night we decided to have a traditional Portuguese dinner consisting of bread, fish, and potatoes. which happens to also be the desired diet of felines.

I think I know why one gets so many potatoes in Portuguese meals - every destination is somehow at the top of a flippin' hill.
we zig-zagged our way back to our house through a cigarette-lit alley; a maze of drying laundry, sweet-smelling desserts, and cats.
235 stairs later I asked my mom if she is okay and her response is a tired laugh.

Porto, done.

in other news...
...mom while holding the cable remote: "Kathy, how do I turn off the TV?"
me: "mom, this is the remote for the cable box. You need the TV remote"
mom: "I know"
...45 minutes to get from one plane to another on Terceira island. think we can do it?
...(yes, we did)

3 hours in Chicago

my mom frantically flips through the plastic safety "menu" of details as the using-your-seat-as-a-flotation-device instructions play on the little tvs.

we are on our first of many legs heading to Portugal, or as my family calls it, the MOTHERLAND.
and while my mother was born on that land, she has not returned since she was 5... and she is not much of a traveler.

so, I took the liberty of planning this 12 day trip for us. which means something will go wrong. maybe my passport will get stolen or my chromebook will explode when I forget to use the voltage converter or my luggage will fall in to the Atlantic or my mom will accidentally PURCHASE drugs in Lisbon and take them.
which is pretty bad.
(or... is it?)

several people have asked me "why Portugal?" in regards to vacation locations.
my grandparents - Manual and Isilda - are from the island Pico, one of 9 islands in the Azores 900 miles off the coast of Portugal. Pico is about 35 miles long and carries a volcano on its back.
mom tells me as kids on the island, her and her sisters used to chase chickens and roll a wheel around with a stick to entertain themselves.
luckily, I will have no time for that.

we have just 4 days on the island and they are jam packed with whale watching, volcano cave touring, caldeira balancing, ferry riding, wine tasting, and not accidentally driving off any cliffs.
(it has been a long time since I drove a manual stick shift)

but until our Pico adventures, we are roaming around Porto Portugal... drinking wine from our garden patio that faces the Dom Luis bridge and listening to seagulls that sound SO MUCH like screaming children (once you get used to it, it is nice).

in other news...
...turbulence. a reminder that you may have just paid hundreds of dollars to die.
...in Philadelphia, in transit to Lisbon, my mom tells me "I'm getting punchy". I step a punch-distance back from her and ask what that means. 
mom: "I haven't had any fruit or taken any walks"
me: "oh so, cranky?"
her: "yes - punchy"
OK then. I have adjusted our agenda to include walking far to purchase fruits.
...as my mom takes a photo of me writing this post she says "OK tell me when"
me: "OK, now"
mom: "OK, hold on"
...after taking said-photo she asks me "you aren't writing anything embarrassing are you?"
me: "nope"
...I had a birthday. and I will not hesitate to announce it was the best yet.

there is no better person to be, than yourself

skinny jeans and tennis shoes.
that is what my 17-year-old Bieber-loving cousins wore for their *hiking tour of the University of California Santa Cruz campus.

I decided to not tell them about me - loudly - ripping my tightly flared jeans while trekking to class back in 2001. there is a valuable lesson to be learned when your ass-cheek hangs out of your pants, and I did not want to take that opportunity away from them.

the campus is a forest... the air is freshly amazing, the views are spectacular, and gumball machines plant trees.

my One Direction-enthusiasts learned that one cannot locate something with the eye and say LET'S GO THERE. rather one must simply begin walking to discover the destination. plants and bridges are your landmarks.

so, we got lost a lot.

and saw a penis.

and saw a library. which - from their reactions - is more rare than seeing a penis.

I was far too excited and envious to find the library had - since my departure - built study 'rooms' in the corners, that were outside. they had 2 walls of strong screens... keeping bugs out but letting tree-breezes in.

we trekked our way back to the car, our adventure perfectly timed with everyone's hanger levels. instruments played along the downtown Santa Cruz strip as I pointed out my favorite shoe shops. the lunch-time burgers at Betty's did NOT disappoint and our pleasantly full tummies drove down to the Marine Aquatic Center along the cliffs by the ocean.

upon realizing we could touch stuff at this Aquatic Center, I excitedly shouted "OH COME TOUCH THE STARFISH!". I received a prompt...

so I used my physical strength and superiority to coerce them in to touching the starfish and hermit crabs and those big eggshell things that sharks push out of their vaginas. *cringe

once the old lady went in to detail about the orgy that the jellyfish were having in front of us, I knew this trip had officially become 'epic'.

in other news...
...I somehow keep discovering and then forgetting that the only person one can rely on, is oneself. I cannot continually HOPE that someone else will treat me how I want them to, nor should I expect that. therefore, I vow to date myself; to do what I want, even if it means I do it alone; to not settle for someone else's ideals when I want something different; to not let someone else, let me down.

"Without giving up hope... we will never relax with where we are or who we are."

- Pema Chodron

how to buy yourself flowers

you stepped in poop while walking your dog before work.
then your dog stepped in poop. (what an asshole)
a coworker ditched you at lunch today and did not apologize.
someone visited your cube to ask you what's wrong, because KATHLEEN, YOU LOOK SO TIRED. ARE YOU OK??
you cannot seem to find any POOPING PRIVACY today in the work bathroom.
and work announced more layoffs.

this calls for, PURCHASING FLOWERS FOR YOURSELF!

when I see someone walking with a bouquet, I like to imagine it was purchased not for a special occasion; not for a birthday; not for an anniversary; not for an expectation. rather, for a surprise; for a hard day; for I Thought of You; for I Love You.

and sometimes, you have to be your own lover.

so I stood there in the middle of all these Safeway flowers after work, trying to decide what this non-occasion deserved.
Calla Lilies? no - smells like medicine.
Mixed? no - too "get well soon"ish and lacks direction.
Gerberas? no - I need to be able to pronounce it confidently.
Roses? no - I do not deserve those.

wait wait, what? did I really just think that?? what a jerk!

ROSES IT IS!

surprise yourself today and help yourself be happy.

in other news...
...Rome has a rash in his paw. probably from all that POOP he keeps stepping in!!
...my boyfriend seems to think 2 nights spent in Lake Tahoe for a 100 mile bike ride, is a vacation.
...I love a dog who has an appreciation for the arts.

I WANT TO MARRY YOU!

he shouted to me.
in the parking lot of an Aqui's Cal-Mex restaurant.
as his parents dragged him away.

HE, is a 4 year old whose mom and dad just bought me a birthday meal.
not the ideal proposal but it warmed my already-melted heart.

spending time with my friends and the people I love made turning 33 pretty rad. it was an excuse to eat ice cream; achieve my worst bowling score; be driven by someone else; go home at midnight because you know what? I am tired! (oh, and to be proposed to in a parking lot)

besides the sore knees after 50 mile bike rides, getting old is not that bad.

in other news...
...my 7th grade teacher told me, "Happy birthday. You have the best posts and live life to the fullest, so I am sure you will have a great day." and you know what? after reading that, my day was even better.
...Romeo experimented life as an off-leash wolf-pack member last weekend, while I was a nail-biting nervous wreck of a 'mom' expecting him to run off with another woman, or break a leg, or get a dog pregnant (impossible), or pierce his belly button, get a tattoo and move to Mexico.

thank you Romeo for always coming back home to me!

Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain

yesterday, I felt very small. tiny. itsy bitsy. non-poisonous spider. unimportant.

while digesting this emotional surprise, my eyes began leaking and my face turned in to a giant hive. at 4pm. in the office.
(if I could punch my hormones in the face - if the face were not my own - I would)

I ran to the office-gym-treadmill to fix myself, brushing off my gym-rat buddies along the way.
"good! how are yo-"
"oh I have to blow my nose"
"no, 7 minutes abs isn't possib-" I turn the corner.

concentrating on physical pain will stop one from crying, right?

miles later, my run was done. I rushed back to the gym-rat buddies to apologize for my brashness but halfway through the sorry, my friend tells me a story.

4 weeks ago, he was driving on the freeway when a car on the OPPOSITE side crashed in to the cement divider. luckily the driver was ok. however, the impact of his car in to the divider sent a 2-foot long piece of that divider INTO my friend's windshield, while traveling the opposite direction.
it exploded glass in to his face and barely missed his body while landing in his back seat.
he showed me photos.
he almost died.

things have been properly placed back in to perspective now.

tears redacted.

in other news...
...while attempting to smack an incessant flying BUG, I swatted my own tit. *ouch.
...my boyfriend and my dog had their first alone time together while I was at a party this weekend. fortunately, NO ONE DIED. (but someone DID poop)

toss, turn, worry, and repeat.

PROBLEMS!

the old hard-of-hearing guy shouted. I jumped at the unexpected volume.

the instructor of this Sleep Better class nodded in agreement.
YES, PROBLEMS ARE SOME THINGS WE THINK ABOUT WHEN WE TRY TO SLEEP.
she pleasantly laughed her open-mouth big-teeth Julia Louis-Drefus laugh.

25 supposed insomniacs - me included - sat in a circle staring across the room in to each other's sunken eyes, fidgeting at any discomfort, shaking our stress out in feet and finger tapping. the meditation practice helps my butt realize just how crappy this chair is, and instead of concentrating on my "ocean breath" I am staring at the velvet kitty-printed turtleneck the woman across from me is modeling.

I don't belong here. but I do.

the 70-year-old Bilbo Baggins in the room interrupts our "Negative Sleep Thoughts" brainstorming to ask WHAT CAN I DO TO FALL ASLEEP AFTER A VERY EXCITING NIGHT WITH MY WIFE?

sigh.
at least the class is free.

in other news...
...dog beaches that are also nudist beaches result in naked people having lengthy (and close) conversations with me about how cute my dog is. thanks. and also, no thanks.
...my 7 aunts recently discussed the definition of 'teabagging'. loudly. while they were drunk. at a busy winery. (I will not be returning)
...#1 reason for Rome to learn how to use the toilet?

blood splatter analyst I am not.

while snoozing my alarm, I notice blood drops on my white comforter. Rome is asleep next to me and immediately I scour him for an injury. he appears fine... and newly irritated that I have woken him with such a stir.
scanning myself, I find no place for blood to escape.
I look at the ceiling and think, I can't believe I am looking at the ceiling.

there is just no way this makes sense.

I demote myself from Dexter status and get ready for work.

while painting my face, Rome meanders in to my restroom to observe. he dog-shakes his head... sending splatters of blood across the walls. the end of his airplane-ear cracked and is dripping. I hang a towel over him and tell him STAY.

the vets were oddly excited to fix him, informing me he would be returned to my arms wearing a babushka - they giggled their way to the back with him. after gluing the cut on his ear, folding and wrapping it on top of his head, he entered the waiting room Girl-with-the-Pearl-Earring style.

the enormous amount of sadness in his face skyrocketed my worry.
he would wear this for 3 days; it is very tight around his neck; do not let him exert a lot of energy; give him 1/4th of this pill, twice a day; $230.
ok ok ok.

after cutting every kibble-bit in half so that he could swallow easier, I told myself I needed to relax. I was convinced his wrap was far too tight and he would suffocate to death during the 5 seconds of every minute that I was not staring at him.

a few friends offered reassurance that he will be ok; others offered Photoshopped versions of Rome in famous paintings; I offered myself a cocktail.
thanks to all of those efforts, I felt much more at ease and left him alone.

Rome got through 2 nights of this before the vet removed it (whew) and I took over with a pathetic Aunt Jemima version.

mm, pancakes.

in other news...
...good thing I do not own a horse.
...today Rome is wrap-free and living it up as an apartment-dog in Campbell, California.
...Van Gogh's Ear is my favorite.

acHOO!

from this place I sit, I hear laughing crows and hummingbird wings.

I scream-sneeze, and Romeo rushes to the door to ensure I am still alive.

it is not a horrible day.

last week, we visited the beach together. it humbles me to see Romeo excited to simply get in my car, regardless of the destination. in a lot of ways, I feel that same lost joy.
it does not matter where I go, because in being there, I will be happy.

sometimes I suggest an adventure to someone other than my dog, and in return I hear...
Is it supposed to be fun?
Will it be good?
Have you been there before?
Does it have decent reviews?

DOES IT REALLY MATTER? "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" are both nothing without times. just go, and decide for yourself.

in other news...
...in a recent gym competition, I ranked 3rd (out of 12) for my 3 minutes and 10 seconds plank. I felt proud.. until the trainer told me the winner recorded a time of 5:30. NO ONE TOLD ME WE COULD TAKE STEROIDS.
...QUOTE OF THE DAY goes to my father, who exclaimed over the phone: I KNOW I HAVE TOO MANY HOBBIES AND AM DISCOMBOBULATED. BUT THAT'S SUPERFLUOUS BULLSHIT.

it was a run-by pooping

my purse, gym bag, pair of heels, laptop bag, and a set of keys juggled to the ground as I unstuck a note taped to my front door.
after blaming the note for everything wrong in my life (I was hangry), I read the bubbly-written letter aloud to Romeo.

even HE rolled his eyes at the number of "OMG"s in this thing.

in summary, a fellow tenant threw a bag of dog poop in to my patio and broke something.

I cannot say Romeo's poop has ever broken anything. (EVER). I mentally applaud her rock-digesting pup while racing to my patio to see the damage.

a decorative light was smashed... glass pieces lay beside the guilty poop-bag defendant.

over the next 24 hours, I marvel at the fact that a stranger's bag of dog poop was
a) hurled in to the air
b) hurled in to MY PATIO and
c) broke something.

I was (and still am) pretty amused.

since she offered to fix it, I told her it was simply from Target and not a big deal.

the next day, I returned home to a gift on my door step. she not only purchased the replacement bulbs, but wrapped them in tissue, placed them in a bag, and included a card.

BEST POOP-HURLING DAY EVER!!

in other news...
...2 pink Peeps is what I had for breakfast. I am pretty sure Easter candy exists because someone said HOW WILL WE GET FAT BEFORE NEXT CHRISTMAS??
...I spent 10 minutes earlier watching cat videos. on CNN. so, you know... it was NEWS.

365.242 days in a year

Heather always covered her face with both of her large hands when she laughed.
I remember that the most.

each step she took was long, quick, and clumsy - her tall frame loomed over most people. the pale skin on her cheeks instantly painted pink at the slightest bit of unwanted attention. she was a quiet comedian... who did not laugh when I forgot her 17th birthday.

we met at our neighboring lockers at school that morning and after noticing I held no present, card, sweet treat, flowers, nothing... she largely spun around and stormed away.

immediately I knew what had happened and felt an enormous disappointment in myself.

the following year I stumbled in to school carrying balloons, gifts, and freshly-dropped-in-the-parking-lot cookies... excited to show her I cared and remembered.
(yes, I admitted to dropping the cookies. yes, we ate them anyway.)
she was incredibly happy to vote, have her job at Safeway, and start life after high school.

Heather unexpectedly passed away that summer.

...

on my book shelf lies a stack of new, ready-to-be-given birthday cards. they are there as a vow to my friends, my family, myself... to not forget another birthday; each passing day is a gift - 365 'passing days' is a celebration!

Happy 33rd birthday Ms. Lane!

pew pew

BUT IT'S ONLY 11am!!

my 12 year old cousin shouted at me as she found me eating a Thin Mint cookie from her pantry.

I AM 32, AND AWAKE. THOSE ARE THE ONLY REQUIREMENTS NECESSARY FOR COOKIE CONSUMPTION.

while my aunt and uncle drank their way through Carmel over the weekend, I 'teenage-sat' their 16 and 12 year old kids... ensuring no one lit their farts on fire or ate an entire bag of Lay's potato chips.

it was a pretty simple gig really. except when we all decided to go shopping, and I lost my car keys.

OH, I HAVE THEM. the 16 year old said.

WAIT, WHY DO YOU HAVE TH..... then I see his driving permit in his other hand.

enter first hot flash.
my hands and pits are instantly sweaty and my face flush. just yesterday I was wiping their butts (exaggeration), and now I am racking my brain over my car insurance policy and imagining all 3 of us dying because of my poor decision-making.

I quickly interviewed him on his experience.
HAVE YOU DRIVEN IN THE DARK? THE FREEWAY? SUICIDE LANES? TOP-HEAVY CARS? 4-WAY STOPS? WITH SUNGLASSES?

after hearing all the right answers, we were set to go. until the 12 year old thought of a question for me...

WAIT - ARE YOU OVER 25???

I could not have loved her more than I did at that second in my life. not bothering to answer her question, we headed to the store together.

and truthfully speaking - after being instructed to STOP dancing while driving - my cousin is pretty good!

in other news...
...in case you were wondering, the permit rule requires 1 licensed, over 25-years-of-age person be in the car.
...after giving me a hard time about a Thin Mint at 11am, my younger cousin proceeded to pour 3 tablespoons of syrup on her waffle. and then ate a donut. HMPH.
...an epic Nerf battle seemed to be the proper celebration for no *new dents on my car.

blue and bluER

on Thursday, Romeo was 6.
on Friday, Romeo was 7.

weird how birthdays work that way.

since he can not speak English, I told everyone we saw IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY TODAY!! (after about the 5th time, I felt crazy. not a BIT crazy. rather, full crazy)

everyone reacted in the same happy manner though, saying something like OHH IT IS?? HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUTIE! (which was weird coming from the dusty and decrepit "zombie" man in my complex) then I would walk away proudly as Rome made a birthday-doo.

truthfully speaking though, I strongly dislike pets' birthdays. it reminds me that Rome is not forever - he has an expiration date.
I hate that.

as a kid, I would spend maybe... one day a month mourning my at-that-time-alive cat's future passing. we would lay on my day-bed together buried in stuffed animals and frilly pillows. she would purr, I would cry.

what a waste of a perfectly good ball-throwing, roller-skating, cat-playing, dirt-throwing, mom-yelling day.

so rather than curling up in bed with Rome (sans stuffed animals since I am old now), we went for a long walk together.

happy birthday to my favorite pooper!

in other news...
...you know those moments in shows and movies where brave (or stupid) people (or blondes) open doors in dark places?.. goosebumps and chills wave through your body? within a matter of a few seconds, these people have determined going in this room, turning this corner in search of a murderer or alien (or whatever Dr. Who is looking for) is a necessary thing.
it takes me 10 minutes to kill a spider.
in bright light.
after mapping out a detailed plan AND backup plan.
with NO scary music.
...I made cheesecake for the first time. also? I ate HALF OF A CHEESECAKE for the first time.
...Rome's birthday walk led to 1 mile's worth of blue and bluer trees.