Buddy was great this morning until 9:10. At 9:10, the doggy-crazy-alert sounded in its super high-pitched-only-dogs-can-hear way. I let Buddy out to use the bathroom at 9:10 with the knowledge that I needed to leave the house at 9:20 in order to make it to my 9:40 class. At 9:17 or so, I go to let Buddy back inside and subsequently, put him in his crate. Now, considering I generally have to lose my feet inside Josh's fuzzy crocs, burrow inside a jacket in my pjs, and venture all the way into the yard to get Buddy to even go outside in the mornings, one would think he would voluntarily rush back in to greet me upon opening the door. No, no. Not this morning.
Sensing my impending need to leave, Buddy decided it was a nice morning for a game of tag. I tried treats, toys, the leash, ignoring him, ignoring him with the door shut, ignoring him with the door open, ignoring him in the yard, chasing after him, yelling, pleading, excitedly coaxing, etc. He was having none of it. Finally out of desperation I went inside, left the door open, and picked up the phone to call Josh for ideas on how to get the darn dog to place more than just his two front paws inside the house without running way as soon as I even looked at him. I walked from the phone over the refrigerator and noticed Buddy lingering in the doorway waiting for me to dodge at him so he could take joy in his escape. I pretended to yawn while turning my back to him and intentionally knocking a closed bag of treats off the top of the refrigerator. VICTORY! Buddy lunged for the treats. I sprinted towards the door, slammed it shut, and then chased after Buddy who was by that time in the living room under an ironing board. I was fuming. It was 9:38. I reached for his collar to drag him to his crate, but at the last second he dodge to a tiny hole between the leg of the ironing board and the recliner.
And then the ironing board fell over, hitting my leg, and freeing the dog.
I yelled. Buddy cowered. I grabbed his collar with one hand, a treat with the other, and slid his little belly across the floor until we reached the crate. It sounds like animal abuse. But believe me, it was the equivalent of the mom at the grocery store with that mix of anger and exhaustion holding on to the hand of her screaming child and dragging him along with her while muttering threats. "BAD," I yelled. He slid to the back of his crate and didn't even bark when I left the room. He knew what he had done.
I trudged across campus in the wind and entered my Media Planning class fifteen minutes late. I looked at my professor warily. He didn't even ask. He did proceed to explain 7th grade equivalent math problems about 3o times each. Seven questions took an hour and a half. And these are questions like: Here is the formula for GRPS. Gross Impressions/Universe x 100. If the gross impressions equal 10 million, and the Universe equals 100 million... What are the GRPS? Not only did he ask every student to explain that equation (13 students), that question alone took 20 minutes. Welcome to a college class full of seniors.
Next was work. Never hard, only boring. Today, I searched through files for duplicates, while paper cutting my hand multiple times. I also filled the shelf with copier paper. Then I made 4 labels and got the mail. Challenging. I know.
Advertising Management... the class I love with the professor who doesn't love me. Although, I do think that is changing. I ranted to Josh about all the ways in which my prof treated me like his other students today. "He asked me how i was! He used my name for an example! He actually called on me to answer a question and said my answer was a good one!" I was excited. Some students might expect these simple things, but this is unexplored territory for me and ole' Applegate. The conversation I had with Josh after my first day in the class went more like this: "He asked everyone to introduce themselves except me. He skipped over my name in the roll. I asked him after class if I was indeed showing up as registered. He confirmed I was. He asked everyone's opinion on a case study except mine. He avoided all eye contact. He ignored anything I said. He. Hates. Me."
And then back to work. Where I... kid you not... sorted out two coffee cups of rubber bands into stacks of "Thick rubber bands" and "Thin rubber bands." Exhilarating.
Home to the chastised puppy who redeemed himself by being cute.
Josh and I went to Bible Study tonight, which we love. A new couple came tonight, bringing the total to 6 couples, which is a great size for a small group. Our actually Connection class on Sundays has grown to 40+ people. We're going to the class Super Bowl party on Sunday. I'm tivoing the game at home in case I miss any good commercials >_>
And that's about it!
Oh, except for the whole Josh accepting the offer to officially go into sales at Lochinvar. Hooray!!! I'm so proud of him :) It means we'll eventually be moving, but the guy who will be his supervisor until we do alluded to the idea that he might keep him in the southeast if at all possible. That would be nice. I think as long as we're in the South, it will feel like home. If it's not, we'll still make it home; it just won't come as naturally I think.
No comments:
Post a Comment