… you’re doing it wrong.
With less than three months to go until the Big Day, the wedding planning has kicked into high gear! I went to pick up our invitations today, as well as envelopes we had printed with addresses. Much to my horror, I discovered a major error as soon as I looked at them:
Yep, they spelled Zach’s name wrong, which sticks out like a sore thumb, especially when you’re obsessed with the correct spelling of things and whatnot, like I am. And I was a little annoyed that the shop tried to claim it must have happened because his name was spelled that way on the spreadsheet I gave them. I was fully vindicated upon review of said spreadsheet, naturally.
Now, of course I knew right away that we would need the shop to redo them, so that’s exactly what I requested. But when I sent the photo to Zach, who I thought was the real victim in this situation, this was his response:
Ummmm, what?! Who doesn’t care if his own name is spelled wrong on the envelopes for his wedding invitations?! DO I EVEN REALLY KNOW THIS MAN?! WHAT AM I GETTING MYSELF INTO?!?
My response reflected the gravity of the situation:
By the time I’d sent that, I had already made the decision to have them redone and was on my way to pick up a delicious sandwich, but the point that we cannot just disregard the little details still needed to be made.
I’m sure this is just the first of many Total Bridezilla Freakout Moments (TBFMs) we’ll experience over the next few months. But Zach really has pitched in a lot with the wedding planning, much more than I imagine a lot of grooms do. (Think our wedding website is the most hilarious thing you’ve ever seen? Yeah, that was pretty much all him.) I’m pretty lucky I get to marry him in June.
Happy anniversary to our little fwuffy wuffy bunnykins! It’s been exactly three years since we first brought our little furball of joy, Pancake, home.
(Oh, and for those of you who have been agonizing for an update since the last, somewhat grim post about Pancake … sorry. She made a full recovery and is fluffier than ever now!)
Our shy little bunny has made a lot of progress since we first brought her home. She’s gone from not even wanting to leave her cage when we first got her to effectively taking over our entire apartment:
(We actually had to build this pen after she was sick because she turned into a chewing monster for a while and couldn’t be left alone without tearing into the carpet or wall trim. Side note: Our landlord will never, ever let another rabbit owner live here. Ever.)
Also, after only three short years of getting to know each other, our wittle Lady McFluffle finally lets us pet her without completely freaking out and running away! And by “pet,” I mean stroke her on the head, and maybe her side, for about 30 seconds before freaking out and running away. Progress! Now, picking her up is still an ordeal that involves using a blanket and other absurd strategies, affectionately known as The Bunny Grab. But at this rate, who knows what the next three years will bring!
I came across several news items today that had me seriously wondering if I had been knocked unconscious, shoved into a time machine and hurled backward through the space-time continuum.
First, there was this gem of a decision by the Montana Legislature:
This is when I first started to suspect something was off. I mean, we’re (hopefully) on the verge of marriage equality here, but some Montana lawmakers still can’t grow a pair and remove a law that was struck down as unconstitutional in the 1990s anyway.
Then, I watched this video about black students not being allowed to go to “white prom” in Georgia. Yeah, you read that right. White prom. Since I thought there was no way any place anywhere in the world — even Georgia — could legally hold a segregated prom, I was convinced I’d been transported back to 1964.
I had no idea just how bad it was though until I came across this post reminding me of how Montana and other states attempted to pass legislation requring local law enforcement to ignore any federal laws passed banning assault weapons … as if a little conflict called the Civil War had never happened, had never resolved the whole is-it-constitutional-for-states-to-pick-and-choose-which-federal-laws-to-follow-like-letting-white-dudes-own-black-dudes-if-they-want-to debate. (RELATED: Louis C.K. as Lincoln)
But the Civil War did happen, and it did establish settle that debate, and there’s no way these legislators could have possibly missed that. Unlessss … unlessss … it’s actually 1860 and the Civil War hasn’t even started yet! Yes, that must be it! It’s the only logical explanation!
So, in the eight years since electing our first black president — and 45 years to the day since MLK Jr. was assassinated — we’ve somehow managed to progress -152 years. Congratulations, America.
I am one of the few, possibly crazy, people who actually likes Great Falls. It’s one of those towns I feel like I shouldn’t like living in, but I do, in spite of that.
But man, people here GOTS to learn to stop for pedestrians! I don’t think I’ve ever lived anywhere that is so unfriendly toward people getting around on two legs. Granted, the last city I lived in was hippie-dippie Missoula, where more people own bikes than cars and drivers will stop half a mile from a crosswalk just in case there could possibly be someone needing to cross it in the next five minutes.
But Great Falls drivers are the WORST. I’m seriously lucky to be alive to write this at all after the close calls I’ve had — either because people a) didn’t see me running across a crosswalk or 2) my angry reaction, which may or may not have involved various vocal and physical incarnations of the F-word, when they didn’t stop for me could have prompted them to turn around and run me over anyway.
I haven’t quite figured out if people here aren’t stopping because they don’t realize that IT IS THE LAW to give pedestrians the right of way when they are at a green light or are waiting to cross the street at a marked crosswalk, or if it’s because they are just being assholes.
I do know with absolute certainty that it’s not because they don’t see me. How do I know this? Because during the winter, I often had no choice but to go running after it was already dark. And because I’m not a total idiot, I dressed for these runs in attire I knew I could be seen in, complete with a glow-in-the-dark yellow shirt and a red blinky light.
It looked like this:
I probably didn’t earn cool points with many drivers, but if anyone had hit me and subsequently tried to claim it was because they couldn’t see me in the dark would be a g.d. liar, considering that this photo was taken from the International Space Station.
So what’s the deal, GF? Why can’t you be cool and just not almost run me over all the time? I’m just trying to get a little endorphin fix. I run on the trail and away from the main roads as much as I can. Give a squirrel a brake, would ya?
We found out this week that our poor, sweet bunny has glaucoma in one of her eyes.
After we noticed her left eye was looking pink and a little swollen on Saturday night, Zach took her into an emergency clinic on Sunday while I was at work. The vet tech there charged us $95 for being basically useless, but she gave us some ointment and made an appointment for Pancake to see a small animal vet on Wednesday.
When it was noticeably worse and looked like it was protruding on Monday, Zach drove her down to Helena to a vet who would look at her there on the holiday. (Sidenote: Zach wins the Bunny Dad of the Year Award, and my mom and dad win Bunny Grandparents of the Year for picking her and her medicine up and meeting Zach halfway!)
This vet actually performed an exam, and decided, kind of on a last-minute whim, to test her for glaucoma. She discovered that the pressure in Pancake’s left eye is slightly elevated, but she wouldn’t be able to run tests to determine why until the next morning.
Pancake was a very brave bunny and stayed all night at the vet’s office and held very still while the doctors put glaucoma drops in her eye. And she even got a strawberry!
The next day, the vets ran all sorts of tests on her, ruling out some scary possibilities but not all of them. The vet narrowed it down to two probable causes: It could be primary glaucoma, meaning it has no underlying cause, which is treatable, though she would probably have to have her eye removed at some point. The other possibility the vet suspects is called a retrobulbar abscess, which could be what’s causing bunny’s eye to protrude. The prognosis for that is much more grim.
The vet gave us some glaucoma drops to help alleviate the pressure and some pain-relieving drops. These, along with the original ointment, have to be administered three times a day at varying intervals, so we’ve had to wrap Pancake up in a “bunny burrito,” hold her eye open and drop them in. She’s not a fan of this, but hopefully it’s making her feel better the rest of the time.
Fortunately, Pancake’s behavior has remained pretty normal throughout all this, which is a good sign and hopefully means she’s not in a lot of pain. (Though bunnies, evolutionarily speaking, are infamously good at hiding signs of sickness.)
So, we are going to give her the drops over the next week, and if it improves, it’s probably primary glaucoma. If it doesn’t improve, it could be the abscess, and we might have to make some tough decisions.
We’re trying to stay positive and hope for the best, because we love our fwuffy wuffy bunnykins so much and want her to live a long, happy life filled with hay and bananas and binkies and hopping and chewing on stuffs. If you have any positive vibes to spare, please send them Pancake’s way!