Gracie Lou

It’s been quite a while since I last wrote a blog and I wish I were writing this one under better circumstances. Unfortunately, today’s is a eulogy for the late, great Gracie who we had to put down Friday afternoon at the grand old age of 11.

I don’t want you to feel bad for my loss though because I just feel bad for you that Gracie wasn’t your dog. Seriously. You missed out… sucker.

Seriously the coolest. Would your dog let you do that?

Gracie was the result of a solid year of lobbying for a dog (pulling the only child card works well, FYI), doing the research to determine which kind of dog would fit best with our family (we are NOT Chihuahua people), and showing my responsibility (I promised to walk her every day—this resolution lasted about 3 weeks before my dad took over walking duty). And finally, right around my 12^th birthday, we picked her up in Rapid City and drove her the 2 and a half hours back to Pierre during which time I rethought my entire position on having a dog. She had spent the first 7 weeks of her life in a kennel surrounded by other puppies and being covered in their bodily fluids. I spent the 2 and a half hours crammed into the back seat of the car with her as she rubbed all over me and vomited spectacularly every few miles from car sickness. She then spent the next few weeks acclimating to our house by alternating between peeing on the carpet and howling at the top of her little lungs. We eventually reached an understanding with each other wherein she (mostly) took care of her business outside and I rewarded her with copious amounts of treats.

I mean, how do you say "no" to begging like that?

Now should be the time where I talk about how well behaved she was and how she was a credit to the golden retriever name. That wasn’t really her style though… Honestly, she was a golden retriever in name only as she was never exactly able to grasp the concept of “retrieving.” She preferred playing “You throw it, I’ll go get it, then you come and try to get me” which resulted in 15 minute long games of her using the dining room table as a barrier between us which I chased her around before giving up. Later in life she also like the game “Go ahead and throw it. I’ll decide later if I actually want to go get it. And if I do go and get it, it will be in my own time and I may or may not bring it back to you.”

"Wait... I'm supposed to bring it back? That doesn't sound right..." 

The only place she actually did retrieve was at Her Beach. Not just any beach but Her Beach. If you tried to get her to fetch at any body of water other than her specific beach on Lake Oahe, she would look at you like you were stupid and then run off to find something dead to roll in. At Her Beach, however, you could throw stick after stick until you had thrown the equivalent of 9 innings of baseball and she would still be wanting more while you were asking for a cortisone shot.

All day, every day

Don’t get me wrong though, she did not have boundless energy. In fact, she perfected the art of “I’ll walk exactly as far as I want to walk and not one step further.” I can’t tell you how many times I took her for a walk and she would suddenly plant her feet and refuse to move. I could push, pull, bribe, or threaten and she would not move another step. However, if I said, “Ok, do you want to go home?” she would turn around and trot back to the house.

"I'm sorry. Were we in a hurry?" 

In fact, pretty much every thing was on her own time exactly as Her Majesty wanted it. When she felt it was time to be fed in the morning, she would walk up to the bed and whine until whoever was supposed to feed her got up. Did I mention she liked to be fed at 4 AM?

When she felt it was time to play, she would push her face completely to the bottom of her toy basket (because the toys on the bottom are the best, obviously), bring it to whoever she wanted to play with, and nuzzle into their hand until they gave in and played.

This is at 5 AM when she woke my friend up for play time 

When she felt it was time for her to be petted, she would paw the person ad nauseum until they petted her. And if it wasn’t up to her standards, she would continue to paw until the technique was up to par.

When she was ready to get in the car to leave, she would stand by the door and wait to be lifted in. This was partly due to old age and soreness but mostly because she was spoiled rotten and lazy.

And although my parents will kill me for revealing our deepest, darkest family secret, when the food was eaten off the dishes by the humans in the house, she was given them to lick off and therefore had a more sophisticated palate than 90% of South Dakota (1. Don’t worry, the dishes were all washed in the dishwasher on the most sanitary setting and my dog was cleaner than most people I know. 2. that is not a dig at South Dakotans, just a simple statement of fact that my parents cook and eat like kings)

If I haven’t already convinced you that Gracie was far and away the coolest dog ever, I’m sorry but you wouldn’t know greatness if it barked in your face (which Gracie would never do. I literally heard her bark less than 10 times her whole life). She spent the majority of her life chillin’ and finding the most unusual or in-the-way spots she could find to sleep.

Seems like a good spot

In the corner behind a chair? Sure

Against your pillow? Yes, please.

It's cool if I lay here, right?

I fricken hate you guys

Snuggling up

One of the last nights I was home, my parents, Gracie and I went downstairs to watch tv. I was sitting on one of the arms chairs minding my own business when Gracie came up to the chair and looked at me in a way that can only be described as a reproachful. I had forgotten that I was sitting in Her chair. I climbed out, stood up and walked to another seat while Gracie glared on. When I finally got out of her way, she climbed into the chair herself, looked at me for a while longer to remind me of how stupid I was, then closed her eyes and fell fast asleep. Next time I go home, I could sit in that chair if I wanted but I’d much rather being getting kicked out by the laziest 65 pound ball of fur in the world. Now excuse me while I go sob into my pillow while I look through all the Gracie pictures on my phone.

Gracie and her chair

Getting Rid of First World Problems

Listen, I’m all about helping people in third world countries. Look—I even wrote a blog about it (see Bill and Melinda? THIS is how you affect REAL change). But before we can fix problems across the world, we need to fix problems here at home.

Yes, you guessed it. I’m talking about putting an end to FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.

(Note, this next section is ideally read while listening to Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel” but that’s your choice)

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is having to wait ten—maybe even twenty—seconds while their video buffers.

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is having to listen to a commercial on Pandora. Or worse, ran out of song skips.

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America forgot to DVR that show they really wanted to see and it’s not playing again until next week. Sure, they could download it on iTunes but then they’d have pay $3.99 and, quite frankly, that price is ridiculous.

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is stopped at red light even though they have somewhere they really need to be. Or maybe they just want to get home after a long day of work. It’s not really our place to judge them.

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is standing in a clothing store trying to hold in the tears after finding the perfect outfit but discovering the store is out of their size. PS: seriously, stores? You can order 3,000 larges and up but you have a limit of 2 size smalls?

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is waiting in a “Ten Items or Less” check out line as the person puts not 10, not 11, not even 12 but 13—THIRTEEN—items on the counter.

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is having to decide whether they want soup OR salad with their meal. How is that fair? HOW IS THAT FAIR?

At this very moment, someone, somewhere in America is parking their car MORE THAN 20 FT from their destination. And then… they are having to WALK.

Really, America. How much longer can we stand for this? Or sit. Actually, yeah. We should all probably sit down. None of us are in the kind of shape that allows us to stand for long periods of time.

But trust me, our voices will be heard from our armchairs, beds, couches, and any other object that can support our weight. We will not take this sitting down!

Well, metaphorically speaking at least.

So how can you make a difference?

Complain!

Take to the media and let your voices be heard.

Call customer service representatives at Pottery Barn and let them know that the ottoman you ordered is more brown than cognac!

Leave a strongly worded comment on Amazon that your Twilight book set, DVD set, and Robert Pattinson cutout arrive TWO WHOLE DAYS after it was supposed to!

Make your facebook status about the unfair return policies of Forever 21 who fail to realize that you no longer want the top you bought 20 minutes ago!

Take to twitter to get #walmartoutofflaminhotcheetos trending worldwide to let everyone know the pain and suffering you went to when you had to get regular Cheetos instead!

Frankly, we First World-er’s have lived too long in the shadows.

Too long have we put the inability of third world nations to adequately feed their people over our inability to watch both Grey’s Anatomy AND Parks and Recreation live because they play at the same time.

Too long has the media been covering the uprisings in Egypt, Syria, and Turkey when they SHOULD be covering McDonald’s discontinuation of the McRib.

Too long have we heard about devastating natural disasters when we should be hearing about the fact we’ve only had a few days of bikini weather so far this year.

It’s time for us to let the world know that we want the attention we deserve!

Viva la Revolucion!

I'd Rather Die Than Do That

My parents have recently been harping on me about the importance of finding a job. Apparently “waiting for you to die so I can collect inheritance” doesn’t cut it for them. Psht. Whatever.

So, as much as it pains me, I have been thinking about some things that I could maybe possibly do for gainful employment. So far, my search has been fruitless. All I have discovered are certain jobs that I know without a doubt would be the worst things ever.

With no further ado, I present KB’s definitive list of Worst Jobs Ever aka I’d Rather Die Than Do That.

Disney Princess at a Theme Park

            This might not be the most obvious one because on face value, I could really get behind the idea of dressing up like Pocahontas and getting paid for it. Don’t let this fool you, however, because being a Disney Princess is a job designed by Satan for naïve girls who never wanted to grow up. Think about it, you have to spend day after day in an itchy costume posing for pictures with snot nosed, bratty, screaming children. Granted I’ve never worked there, but I think it’s fairly safe to assume that swearing at and/or causing a child to cry is frowned upon. Like, way to take away the only perk this job had! At least if you’re Goofy or Mickey or someone like that you get to wear a full body suit. Although wearing that stupid head probably induces heat stroke, at least you don’t have to have a smile plastered to your face the whole time.

Not quite sure why it appears Saddam Hussein is in the back of this photo...

Septic Tank Anything

            I recognize that there are things that need to be done regardless of how disgusting it might be to do them. Take, for instance, septic work. I mean, someone’s gotta do it but that someone sure as hell is not going to be me. How does one get into the septic business? Are you just sitting there thinking “well, I could go to med school… or I could clean shit out of people’s houses… Let’s go with option number 2.” That is a special breed of person. For those of you who are septic workers out there, God bless you.

I can only assume this large "x" means that no one should do this kind of work ever

OB/GYN

            I’m sure being an OB/GYN has some serious perks like getting to deliver a baby (I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing. Personally, pulling a slimy shrieking demon out of a woman’s va-jay-jay is not my cup of tea) but I have to think the drawbacks seriously outweigh the pleasures. As a woman, I cannot think of anything more awkward than spending my day peering into the nooks and crannies of another lady’s parts. For a man, being an OB/GYN seems like a really great way to never have sex again. I mean, who wants to take their work home with them? (insert drum and cymbal joke noise here)

Can you imagine some of the nasty things OB/GYNs have to see every day? Come on, we were all thinking it 

Hooker

            I know this probably seems self-explanatory but my problem with being a hooker might not be what you’d expect. As far as I’m concerned, if you really like having sex with random (STD-ridden) strangers, then you might as well be getting paid for it. More power to you. I would just hate the job because of the other implications. What do you do for taxes? Can you write off condoms and birth control as work place expenses? What do you put on statements asking for your occupation? What about family gatherings? Can you imagine sitting around the dinner table and your sister is talking about her great new job in a big company with a great boss and you’re like “oh yeah, he’s one of my regulars!” Long story short, I don’t think being a prostitute is really the right position for me (see what I did there?)

Remind me again why waiting for my inheritance money isn’t an acceptable “career”?

South Dakota: Great Faces, Bad Choices

I’ve lived in the great state of South Dakota for all but 4 school years of my life. And I can call it a “great” state because that’s what the motto is:

“Great Faces, Great Places”

Get it? Because of Mount Rushmore?

Yeah, that’s right. We have Mount Rushmore. Suck on that, North Dakota.

We also have the world’s largest pheasant and the county with the highest poverty rate in the nation but that’s neither here nor there.

Anyway, as much as I love “SoDak,” I’ve come to the conclusion that our ancestors were all absolutely insane to settle here permanently.

Think about it; here you are on this long, arduous journey to the promised lands of California, Colorado, Oregon, or some place else but you get tired on your journey and decide to set up camp in what is now South Dakota.

Assuming you weren’t murdered by Native Americans your first night here for trespassing on their grounds, the next morning you would still wake up to find some of the most desolate, inhospitable land this side of the Sahara.

Sure, there are a few rivers and lakes and even an occasion tree (if you look hard enough) but for the most part it is dry land as far as the eye can see meaning that if you need water—which you do need if you want to survive—you would have to dig a well to get to it. I’ve read my Laura Ingalls Wilder and I know that digging a well was like… the worst thing ever.

First off, it is a lot of work, which is a word I avoid like the plague. Second, a lot of bad stuff happens in wells; bad natural gases that can cause you to pass out and die, poison in the ground that gets in your drinking water that can cause you to pass out and die, or even something as simple as Timmy falling down the well causing Lassie to come find you. Nothing good ever happens in a well. Just trust me on this.

He's either exhausted from digging a well, poisoned by gases from the well, dying from drinking from the well, or just fell down the well. I told you; nothing good happens 

Let’s now assume that you’ve survived an encounter with hostile Natives and dug a functioning well without passing out/dying/ or being saved by a (probably rabid) collie. You’re now going to need some sort of shelter for the 360 days a year when the weather is too hot/ too cold.

What’s that you say? You want to build a house?

Too damn bad.

There is literally no wood in a 50 mile radius of you.

Time for Plan B, which, in this case, means building a dugout.

For future reference, any time your living arrangement consists of a literal hole dug into the side of a hill with walls made of mud, it’s time to call a relator and find something else.

Home Sweet Hovel

Assuming that you eventually do build a dugout and are content living in a hole in the ground like a mole, let’s not face your next problem. You’re probably going to want to have some means to feed yourself and your family.

Not a problem. Why don’t you plants some crops and buy some livestock?

Oh wait.

Your crops are probably going to die because South Dakota weather likes to mess with your head. You think it’s finally good enough weather to plant your crops? Sorry! Freak blizzard. You think your crops are looking really good and you’re ready to harvest? Sorry! Baseball sized hail followed up with a tornado. You think your crops are right on target? Sorry! Decade long drought!

Dead, just like your hopes and dreams

What’s that? You think your livestock should still be fine?

Sorry but the blizzard wiped out half your herd. Another fourth died of starvation when you didn’t have enough crops to feed them. The final fourth died when they drank water from your well (I tried to tell you it would be poisoned).

All you have left is a scrawny little team of oxen. Let me offer you some advice: hitch those babies up and get the hell out of town.

Even your animals want to GTFO

Well, that’s what I would have done anyway. Apparently my ancestors, as well as most of the ancestors of the idiots still living here, weren’t smart enough for that. And neither are we, considering we still live here. Instead, we all freeze our asses off in the Winter when the wind chill dips down to -30. We then get super excited in March when the weather sky-rockets up to 70. We put the winter clothes away and throw on a pair of shorts and talk about how excited we are for Spring… until we wake up the next morning and find snow on the ground (literally happened last week). During the Spring we get so excited about the nice weather and think longingly of Summer until Summer is finally here… and we remember why we didn’t like Summer that much to begin with. Because suddenly it is triple digits outside and sweat drips off our body at a disgustingly alarming rate before evaporating immediately into the air. We suddenly long for the cool days of Fall. Unfortunately, Fall finally arrives and the leaves begin to change… for about 3 days before Winter is here all over again.

Seriously, why haven’t we left yet?