Indecisive

I've recently decided that it might be time to move out of my apartment. This is kind of a big step for me because I've been here for two years and have put a lot of work into it. But it really doesn't make a lot of sense for me to keep paying rent, especially now that a house is going up next door which means putting up with very loud banging all day, as well as the fact that it's going to block out the one window that lets in any light. And although my rent is ridiculously cheap, I'm at a point in my life where I'd like to have heat and a dishwasher.

Still, this has not been an easy decision because leaving this place means leaving a lot of memories behind - and not just of my crazy neighbor. Leaving means finally admitting that I'm a different person and like it or not I'm entering the grown up stage in my life where I will own my car and real estate. I'm not saying it's a bad thing ... just different, that's all.

In other news, my older dog Magda has been relegated to the shame of wearing a cone collar for awhile. Thank god she finally got used to it today and is able to lie down -- a nice change to her pacing and attempts for three solid hours yesterday as well as running into various objects and scaring herself.

The problem was that she kept chewing on a very, um, tender spot. So, I took her to my hot vet who is as friendly as ever and apparently still unmarried. Worth putting on lipstick for. Unfortunately, our usual light chitter-chatter was somewhat besmirched by my dog's illness which involved a lot of discussion using very unsexy words like "vulva," "vaginitis," and "urine crystals." As if that couldn't kill the seed of romance fast enough, when I asked how she managed to rub the spot raw he asked me if I had ever observed her rubbing herself against anything. Ew. Even though probably correct, ew.

Alas, from now on I will probably be known as the "girl whose dog pleasures itself enough to require medical attention."

At least I'll have a follow up appointment.