Fretting the Small Stuff

A.R.E.

I must confess: I'm kind of a geek.  Back in high school I joined the debate team my junior year and I continued to debate through college.  I traveled extensively in college to debate and although I never became a great debater, there are so many skills that I learned over those years that live with me today.  I can thank my fabulous coach for the numerous life lessons and the reasoning and debating skills that he taught me.  Our motto, by which I try to abide, is Think for Yourself. 

Recently, I have been engaged in a discussion on Emma's blog regarding aerial wolf hunting.  As always, I attempt to avoid ad hominems.  But besides that, I try to remember A.R.E which stands for Assertion, Reasoning and Evidence.  Of course, it is not always easy to readily find good evidence right as you want to make an argument and especially within a blog comment.  In turn, logical reasoning can be a great substitute for evidence to support your position.  In fact, I find reasoning to be especially engaging because it demonstrates thoughfulness and reasoning.  And don't get me wrong.  I am not saying that the person who does not agree with my position is not using reasoning.  My point is that when I discuss an issue about which I feel strongly, I need to remind myself of the acronym A.R.E.

Spreading the Word

The four of you regular readers know that I am a strong supporter of the protection of animals.   The lovely Ms. Emma wrote about how the Humane Society Legislative Fund endorsed Barrack Obama and Joseph Biden in the Presidential Election.  If you are a supporter of the protection of animals, have an animal companion at home, or enjoy throwing blood on fur coats* (Ew), I urge you to check out both links.  And if you want to learn about what Ms. Palin supports, you might want to check out here. 

*By the way, I know those folks generally don't throw real blood.  That would be against the point or something like that.

Long Time No Post

So sorry about my lack of posting but here's the thing, my brain is on the fritz.  Is that the right spelling?  Fritz?  Anyhow, any ability to produce creative thoughts is lost.  I thought it was behind my file cabinet in my office but no luck.  It might be under the kitchen sink but it's too scary under there to look.

But I have other thoughts on my brain such as and the like.  Sarah Palin's voice gives me mini-seizures.  Okay not really but I do twitch a little when I listen to her.  And I would rather have her not allow shooting of wolves out of airplanes and taking polar bears of the endangered species list.  And not talk.  The end.

Also, I had a minor freak out about being pregnant but it's okay now.  I tend to worry a little ALL THE DAMN TIME.  Honestly, it bugs the crap out of me but I cannot help it.  And to top of my worries because life is super wicked awesome?  The nurse at my OB/GYN's office called to tell me that I had a positive Penta screening for Down Syndrome.  What did positive mean?  I have a 1/149 chance of having a child with Downs Syndrome.  Normal is 1/270.  So it's not that not awful but hello?  Welcome to my special world of worry.  Admission is free.  So the nurse set up an appointment for The Prof and me to meet with the doctor on Friday morning to discuss what the results mean. 

But wait, there's more.  The nurse called me back an hour later.  The results are inaccurate because, whoops!  someone put down my due date as January 11, 2009 instead of February 11, 2009 and part of the calculation in determining your chances of having a child with Downs is the due date.  An accurate due date.  That whole conversation about having a positive screening?  Just ignore that little tid bit for a while until we get the correct numbers.  And I'm not criticizing the nurse but my nerves people.  MY NERVES!  I will be having a sonogram so we can get on the same page as to how accurate my due date is.  Oy vey. 

Breathe.  So what might be not so worrisome?  Stuff.  Like going to the yacht club on Saturday for an end of sailing race season party.  And perhaps maybe meeting with a friend in lovely Buffalo on Sunday for lunch and shopping.   Tada!

I apologize for my use of verbs and grammar and sentence structure today but that's all I can handle is a big stinky brain dump.  I promise to light a match fer ya!

PA-THET-IC

So after our vacation, which I will write about in detail at some point when I HAVE THE PHOTOS ON DISC, THE PROF, HINT HINT, I brought our Siamese cat to the vet because I thought she had a urinary tract infection.  She did not; she was constipated.  Mmmm, kitty enema!  I picked her up at the veterinarian and after checking out, the technician told me that they had a stray in the back that she wanted to tell me about.  I explained I had enough cats and no thanks.  But wait!  It's not a cat!  It's a dog!  In fact, it's an Irish Wolfhound mix.  After giving her a very dirty look, I asked to see him.  She couldn't run to the back fast enough to bring out Rooney.  Before seeing him, I had my doubts that he was part Irish Wolfhound.  Many folks make that mistake but I trusted the techs who treated my pure bred Irish Wolfhound for six years.  No sooner could I step away from the counter when she returned with what else?  An Irish Wolfhound mix.  Definitely an Irish Wolfhound mix.  My heart softened a little and I sat down with him.  He was certainly much smaller than a wolfhound and with much more energy.  But he was sweet and he had those damn Irish Wolfhound eyes that could melt your heart every time.  After petting him and having him stare straight into my dark soul, I told them I would maybe sort of "think" about it.  Ugh. 

The following week I called to make an appointment for Mr. Stinny for his yearly check up.  And yes, half my income does go to the veterinary profession. Suck it.  I asked how Rooney, that's his name, was doing and the receptionist/groomer told me that he wouldn't be with them much longer.  When I inquired why, she said that they would have to euthanize him soon because the shelter was running out of room.  The county shelter is housed at my veterinary clinic, by the way.  My immediate response was exclaiming NO!  The hamsters in my brain went to work and I thought, well, um, could I foster him if you don't have room?  She spoke to a tech and said yes. 

Ugh.  What have I done?!  Since we are expecting our first child, we didn't plan on getting a dog for a while.  However, Rooney seems to be a special case.  Some folks brought him to the shelter as a "stray" although Rooney knew his name, was neutered and up to date on his vaccinations, and knew some basic commands.  He is two years old and very sweet, a little hyper, but sweet.  I went back to see him this morning and although he might be a handful initially, he will be a great dog.

So what's a girl supposed to do?  The Prof is hesitant and wants me to see if I can find him a home (not ours) before we take him (he knows we will actually take him but whatever).  Rooney is so sweet and seems to love me.  He needs training, which I'll be willing to do, and he is small enough (67 pounds) that he can be crate trained for a while until we move into a larger house.  The Prof will go with me to meet him next week or the week after, depending on our schedule.  However, my birthday is Saturday and personally, I think he would be a good birthday present, no? 

So here he is.  Do you think I am a sucker?  What do you all think?

Random Smells

That's a title to draw a crowd in.  Since returning to work, I've noticed a strong Old Spice cologne smell in the bathroom area.  At first I thought perhaps a client had swam in cologne rather than bathing and left his mark for the rest of us to inhale.  Then, after using my acute observation skills, I realized that someone put in one of those plug in deodorizers in the women's bathroom.  And being overly and ridiculously sensitive to smells, it brought me back to Salt Lake City when one of The Prof's fellow post-docs lived with us for a few six months.  He liked his Old Spice and most of the second floor and our cat, Donald, smelled like it.  And yes, only Donald and not the other cats or dog smelled like Old Spice because Donald like to befriend our wayward roommates and would spend much of his time in their room whether they liked it or not.  So when I first walked in the bathroom, all I wanted to say was:  "Donald, is that you?"

Baby Names Now...Travel Later

I'm back!  Now what about baby names?  Thank GOD we are going to find out the gender of the baby because if we had to pick out names for both a boys AND a girl, well, the baby might have a name like Chair or Epidural.  I had no idea it would be so hard, did you?  We have a grand total of two girl names we might like or we might not depending on how the wind is blowing.  When my parents had me, their "little surprise package" (no joke, they call(ed) me that), they allowed my siblings (former bloggers on this site) vote on my name.  The choices were Donna (dear god what were my folks thinking), Eileen (good Irish name?), and Andrea.  You all know what they picked - probably Gertrude to spite me but got vetoed.  So I thought, well this baby doesn't have older siblings, we can't go that route but perhaps there is another path we can follow. 

Drum roll.

We can let the cats vote!  We'll put each name on a piece of paper and put them equally spaced out on the floor.  Whatever name they go to the most will be the baby's name.  It's brilliant!

Or am I over thinking this plan?