If you're going to sell dogs...

Please refrain from allowing spelling and grammatical errors to run rampant in your ads. In fact, do me a favor and do not sell dogs at all. Because 'Doberman Pinchers', 'German Shepards', 'Dashounds/Dachshounds/Docksunds/Dachshuhnds/Weener dogs', 'Pomerians' and 'Shnauzers' do not exist. When you say you have 'purebread' puppies, some strange images come to mind.

Example A:



And for those of you buying a dog, don't support breeders like those. If they can't even spell their own dogs, that's just a bad sign.

This post was inspired while perusing through online classified ads for dogs. No, I cannot have another one. No, I am not highly considering another one...yet. I just look for fun sometimes. Is that nerdy? Probably no more-so than knowing all about how to spell different breeds and then ranting about it when people get them wrong.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!

Comment Approval

Alright. Becca's back to blog. Nothing like a little alliteration to start things off right. Although, does that alliteration count? Because the word 'to' is part of the sentence? Well, if it messes things up, then you can 1. Change it to Becca's back, bringin' blogz or 2. Just call that first one a partial alliteration. To start things off right.

Ok, so a week or two ago, I checked my email to discover that I had about six emails in my junk box. Five were from a blogger calling themself 'beccarox' (best name ever!) The sixth one was from, let's face it, an unmentionable sort of a place. Now, don't worry. Just because my blog comment notification emails go straight to my junk box doesn't mean I miss out on them. I check it diligently and make sure I can stay on top of the thousands of comments this blog receives. ANYWAY. Back to beccarox.

I went to the entry that beccarox had commented on. October 15th was the date. I will spare you the trouble of going back to look it up (unless you don't believe me - if you don't, feel free to check it.) The comments were as follows:


Blogger beccarox said...

dear becca, u r so fit, i want u more than santas want pies, like a block of cheese

Blogger beccarox said...

becca your soo fit cant wait to see you at the party itll be a right laugh hahahap.s your fit

Blogger beccarox said...

becca lovs chris 4 ever and ever
xxxx

Blogger beccarox said...

becca musk loves chris T

Blogger beccarox said...

chris is gay, never =0 chris turner loves becca

And I learned so much from this! I learned that I am so fit. Beccarox mentioned it enough times that I now can really take it to heart. I also learned that I love Chris forever and ever. I don't know much about Chris, except that he is not gay, his grammar is not exactly spot on, and he loves me/wants me. Like a block of cheese, he wants me. He is also likely from the UK judging by the slang he uses, and, let's face it, was maybe drunk and never intended for me to be the recipient of these messages (although possibly a different Becca should have been?)

Anyway, it prompted me to set up comment approval for my blog. But come to find out, the notification emails subside when you do that and you're supposed to approve them on the actual blog. So today I found three comments that I never knew existed! My favorite of which was probably the most recent one on my post about the walrus right down below:

Anonymous said...

You easily entertained looser.
Mr.X

Dear Mr. X,
Thank you for following my instructions from that blog post. I definitely let your comment be published for that reason.
Love,
b

Who are these unknown people I wonder? I have never been asked on a date because of my blog or recognized at various locations across the country because of my blog like this lady I know. In fact, if I am completely honest, I can almost guarantee that 90% of the traffic on my blog comes from hers alone. But tonight, that does not stop me from patting myself on the back because I just might have more than three readers.

Sara, Plain and Tall

While some people come up with very innovative, unique things to post and say on their blogs, I myself take a much easier way out most of the time.

Which is why I am sharing this gem with you today. Meet Sara the walrus.



Call me a loser. Call me easily entertained. I am fiercely interested and charmed by animals trained to do different things, even if it's just for fun. (Soon I will put up a new video of Gabe's new tricks!) I watch something like this and immediately want to know how they taught her, or if they really had to. Maybe they simply captured the behavior by reinforcing her when she did it on her own. Maybe she learned it by them modeling it for her. Maybe they rewarded close approximations until Sara grasped the entire behavior. Maybe I should have gone to walrus training school?

And in case Sara is not entertaining enough for you, at least take notice in how much fun the TRAINER is having starting at about the 38 second mark.

One Point For Starbucks

I went to the dentist today. Which is a harrowing experience as it is, but especially when it's been, oh, two and a half years since the last time I went. And here I was thinking that you're supposed to go every year, but apparently it's every six months. Either way, I was overdue. Between going in and out of having insurance over the past year and a half and not really staying in one place for very long, it's been difficult to put a dentist appointment at the top of my to-do list.

And in the midst of all of this, I started working at Starbucks, the place I have come to frequently complain about. My best friend's dad Dan happens to be my lifelong dentist from growing up. He once told me a horror story about a girl who started working at a coffee shop and when she next had her teeth cleaned showed up with 14 cavities. 14! Can you imagine? Well, I have started to lately.

So I, being the Starbucks pessimist that I am, figured that I could probably be told some pretty bad news during my appointment. How many cavities would I come away with? 12? 19? Needless to say, I was dragging my feet a little when I stepped foot into a new dentist office today for the first time.

Needless tangent: can I just take a moment to describe the office to you? ('I don't know Becca, can you?') MAY I? Ok. All I can say is that you can't really expect anything less in Johnson County. The entire office had high, vaulted ceilings. The decorations were a mixture of upscale southwestern memorabilia in 'Tuscan' colors. (What is Tuscan? I don't know, but I read about it in an article they gave to me regarding the place. Think warm, earthy colors.) There was a flat screen TV inside of the over-sized granite counter the secretary sat behind. Not one, but TWO computers sat with internet access for waiting patients. Around the corner was the kids' area, complete with DVD's and a Wii. The bathroom looked like a facility you would use in the Bellagio...or something. Each chair patients occupied while being worked on had a flat screen with headphones so they could watch shows and movies while having their teeth cleaned. And my personal favorite touch? The BOUTIQUE connected with the office. Having anxiety about your dental appointment? Buy a handbag, or some jewelry! For the record, I did not indulge. End tangent.

So the place was pretty over-the-top. But the staff was honestly very kind, welcoming, and warm. They had a good sense of humor about the millions of x-rays that had to be done in my abnormally small mouth, they were not condescending about the fact that it took me so long to get my teeth looked at, and best of all - they told me I had no cavities! I was so thankful to hear that! It's certainly a blessing. Another blessing? The fluoride treatment didn't make me nauseous like it usually does.

And maybe the biggest blessing of all? My insurance covered everything except for the fluoride treatment, and that was something optional I decided to have them do. God is so good. And Starbucks isn't all bad, afterall.

((If you want to know the one bad piece of news from the visit, you can know that I still need a gum graft. Yes, that's right: taking flesh from one part of my mouth and patching it in over my receding gum lines. Apparently braces paired with my aggressive teeth brushing habits has destroyed much of my gum-line, leaving the roots of some of my teeth exposed. Can you say sensitive teeth? And painful surgery? I'm not going to worry about it today though. Maybe in another two and a half years, or when I become a millionaire.)

At Least I Won't Outgrow Gabe

I want to tell you a story about stuffed animals.

I was one of those very sentimental kids. Which probably means I am one of those sentimental half-grown ups now. But anyway. Every one of my stuffed animals had a name and identity of its own and I pretty much kept very close track of all of them. I was the kid who would go to a yard sale and feel the need to 'rescue' the forgotten stuffies I would find there. Bottom line: I believed they had feelings and needed a 'home' (just imagine the nightmare of walking into a pet store or animal shelter with me).

As I got older and realized I probably did not need 468693 stuffed animals, I made the decision to get rid of some of them at our yard sale we were about to have. It wasn't necessarily a mindless, easy decision, but I told myself it was time and I really thought if other kids could enjoy them, it would be worth my own anxiety over it.

Well, the day of the yard sale came, and everything was out to be sold. I think an animal or two was taken here and there for the first little bit. It was fine. And then, this kind of older man came and started stuffing a grocery bag full of my old animals. My parents only had the mindset to get rid of everything, not make a lot of money. So I think my mom was egging him on, telling him to take as many as he wanted.

And as he came to pay, he said something like 'Oh man, my Rottweiler is going to LOVE these. He destroys them so fast, we have to buy lots at yard sales to keep up with him!'

ARE. YOU. KIDDING ME.

By then it would have been too late to throw a fit and save my old friends. He gave his money, took his bag full of my memories and childhood, and he was gone to sacrifice them to the hairy dog.

Life lesson fail.