Guest Posts

Guest Post: Supermodel Min Pin 0

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Today’s post comes from a Miniature Pinscher named Chloe.

Yes, I let dogs guest post on the blog. Did you expect anything less from the girl who almost paid $500 to fly her own pooch to San Diego for her 56th birthday?

While I commonly refer to Jolie as a chihuahua, she’s actually half Miniature Pinscher. Little did I know that both she and Chloe share the dream of becoming a rich, famous supermodels.

I feel like there’s a brilliant reality show concept here — similar to America’s Next Top Model, except Tyra gets peed on when she eliminates a temperamental schnauzer. The producers could even rig it so that her weave gets infested with fleas in the season finale.

I know…I’m, like, totally the next Jeff Franklin.

Anyway, Jolie and Chloe have so much in common, I’ve decided they’re BFFs. The fact that Chloe lives with her owner Corinne  in Ohio, and has never technically met Jolie clearly irrelevant.

I mean, you can totally be BFFs without ever having face to face contact. Take me and Jen Aniston, for example. While we’ve never sat down in person for coffee or anything, she totally adores the blog and sends me love on Twitter all the time. (I have a sneaking suspicion she’s going to ask me to man the guest book at her wedding.)

Okay…that last analogy was a lie. I love John Mayer way too much for Jen to consider being friends with me.

You know what? I’m just gonna let the dog start talking before I dig myself any deeper.

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Supermodel Min Pin

Before I start, I have to get this out of the way.  I’m a Miniature Pinscher but I usually prefer to be called a Min Pin.  It rolls off the tongue nicely, don’t you think?  My mom calls me the best and cutest Min Pin ever, and she’s always right.  But what I have to say is, I’m not a mini version of a Doberman!  I’m cuter and cuddlier, and I’m pretty sure I could go everywhere my mom goes if she would buy me a pretty puppy bag, like this one:

It’s pink! It’s perfect!

Also, I could totally beat up a Doberman.  My mom says that I’m a big dog in a little dog package, and that’s why she picked me.  I think she’s making it up.  She picked me because I was the cutest one out of all my siblings.

I was a cute baby puppy, huh?

I’m convinced that one day, I will be a super model.  I started out all short and chubby, but now, I’m tall and skinny, and I have big ears, which is my “something different” or whatever they say super models have.  One girl has a big gap in her teeth, one girl has freckles, I have my big ears!  People make fun of my ears all the time.  They even think I’m a Chihuahua (no offense, Jolie).  But I tell them, nope, I’m a Min Pin, then I flip my ears back and raise my head just a little bit so they can see how model-y I am.

My favorite thing in the whole world though is to simply cuddle with my mom.  When I got to go home with her two years ago, I lived in a little apartment in Virginia.  It was really hot there, but I made friends with lots of other dogs.  Then right after I got comfortable, we moved to Ohio.  That wasn’t so bad, but my mom made me live in two different places once we got out there.  I didn’t have a lot of friends.  I just spent a lot of time with my mom because she always made me feel better.  The people we lived with in the first house were really nice but I was sad.  The vet said I was stressed.  I even started losing my hair!  Seriously, what little adorable puppy loses her hair?!

I didn’t even get a stylish e-collar

Everything was better once I got my own house.  My mom paid for it, but it’s mine.  Everything is mine.

Anyway, the house is big and I have lots of friends.  My kitties have finally realized that I’m the one in charge, and they need to listen to me.  I still like to cuddle with my mom, but I don’t mind being away from her so much now.  My mom says I’m “growing up” but I haven’t gotten any taller yet.  My favorite part about living in Ohio?  Camp Bow Wow!  They call it day care, I call it super awesome fun time!

It’s so cool.  All I do is play.  That’s it!  All the counselors and other campers think I’m the best and always want to play with me and show them my model poses.  It’s pretty awesome. Who doesn’t love being cute and running and jumping and playing all day long?!

Seriously, who could resist my cuteness?

I’ve got that naive look going for me. Still working on sexy.

Note from Corinne:
I picked Chloe because she was the only black and tan female Min Pin.  She just so happened to be the cutest one. She is also terrible at sharing.

Check out the adventures of Corinne and Chloe on their blog!

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Guest Post: A Wild Boar Helped Me Score 0

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If yesterday’s post was any indication, I am in serious need of a vacation.

So, while soaking up the sunshine in San Diego, I’m also taking a bit of a blog vacation — which means you get to hear from a few of my fabulous internet friends!

Today’s post comes from Jayme, a ‘Sota reader who lives not too far from my old stomping grounds in Upstate New York. I was lucky enough to meet Jayme last month at Camp Do More, where she made me feel like a total celebrity when she recognized me during registration. It was kind of the most awesome thing ever.

Even more awesome? Going to lunch with Jayme. We gabbed for a good two hours, and I’m so glad to have her as a new friend!

I’m also glad to have her as a guest poster as she is downright hilarious.

Without further ado, Jayme.

And Sweet Pea.

A wild boar.

Yes, I’m 100% serious.

 

A Wild Boar Helped Me Score

Cute baby animals help dudes score.  That’s according to former-player Tim O’Connor (aka “Hubs”).

The best kind of baby animals are exotic, like koalas.  That’s how you score with exotic girls.  Puppies help you hook up with the girl next door.  Baby humans draw virtually every type.  Kitties, well, chances are a dude with a kitty is perfectly content hanging out at home by himself.

 

However, Hubs was looking for a special kind of girl, which is why he decided to kidnap a baby wild boar from Georgia while on a fishing excursion.

True, he probably saved the piglet from eventual poaching by “bad-ass” hunters who pays thousands of dollars to say they killed one of thousands of boars on a tiny hunting island, but I digress.  Hubs dreamed of the chicks he would lure to his house while crossing state lines with his new wild boar piglet, Sweet Pea.

Just as he imagined, a 2:45am offer of “Wanna come see my pet pig?” worked 60% of the time, every time in getting a girl to drive from downtown Binghamton to Endicott, which, if you’re from Binghamton, you know that the 10 minute drive to Endicott is always too far.

How was I lucky enough to end up a co-exotic-animal-owner?  Let’s just say it’s NOT because I’m willing to actually get my Kmart cowboy boots dirty.

By the time I entered the 100-year-old farmhouse with boudoir-red carpeting that was Hubs’ bachelor pad, Sweet Pea had grown to 500+ pounds and def not tiny or cute enough to lure me in.  Fortunately Hubs is charming.

Hubs as Mr. T last Halloween – he did it for the kids.

In an attempt to bond with our pet, I entered her arena for playtime.  Ready to get muddy, I tried to pet her.

And she squealed.  Loud.

Excited loud.

She thought I was food.

I forgot to mention that Hubs fed Sweet Pea a diet consisting almost exclusively of corn and deer guts.  I realized that my joking suggestion of making some extra money by letting local mobsters dispose of bodies in her fenced area was something only too possible.

The blood drained from my face while she attempted to buck me off of my feet and I did the only thing I could: I cried.  I may have peed a little.

Tim: Jump over the fence!

Me: WHAT FENCE?!

Tim: The one 10 feet in front of you that you originally hopped over!

Me: IS SHE GOING TO EAT ME?!

Tim: <silence>

He eventually got her attention and I climbed over the fence.  He did what I would’ve done in the situation: he laughed at me for almost peeing myself.  Sweet Pea: 1, Blubbering Wuss: 0

Game-on Sweet Pea.

Tim had to put her down months later because she was too big to contain.  During dinner that night, he told me that he played with her and fed her apples before doing the deed.  I burst into tears right there in Taco Bell.

She was our pet.  Like any family member, we quarreled but I loved her.  I decided not to partake in Sweet-Pea-bacon, because, well, it would be creepy to eat your pet.  Especially since I owed meeting Tim to her:  See, promises of a “wild boar ride” lured my friend to Tim’s house a few years before I came into the picture.  Had he not made-out in the barn with my friend, I never would’ve met him in the future.

Come on, I’m not blind to the fact that Hubs is a stud.

And meeting the types of women a wild boar attracted helped him appreciate the fabulousness that is me.

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A special Thank You to Katrina for letting me guest post on her blog!  We had our first date at Camp Do More, and I want her to know that I hope it was as amazing for her as it was for me ;)  

Come visit me at www.facebook.com/SuperIntoFitness !

 

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Guest Post: Quarantined…literally 1

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This post was written by my dear friend, Carina, who just so happens to be the first friend I made when we moved back to Seattle nearly three years ago.

And yes, we are “Carina and Katrina”. When we met back in 2010 we had both just returned to Seattle, were both working from home, and each had tiny little dogs whom we were (and still are) pretty much obsessed with. We also both have blonde hair…you can see how people often get us confused. Basically, we were two girls with nearly identical names living parallel lives that met one night at a Sex and the City themed party that neither one of us realized was also a singles event. I’ll have to tell you rest of that story when I’m back next week — it’s pretty entertaining.

Want more Carina? Check out Trim, her amazing blog!

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This past week has kind of sucked. I’ve been sick for the past five days. Like really sick. What first appeared to be the stomach flu has turned into something else of a mysterious viral like situation that prohibits me from venturing farther than 20 feet from a bathroom at any given moment.

I’m not the kind who’s used to being sick in the manor that it’s all consuming in your life. A cold here, a migraine there… I usually work through it. This has been different. Not only has my stomach decided to turn itself inside out, but I have been unable to eat essentially anything for the last five days either. Crackers and Gatorade, though fantastic for the waistline and preparation for bikini season (if Seattle ever gets one again) is very boring on the palette. The fat girl inside me is really missing her food!
I’ve also been extra emotional out of shear frustration for not getting better and not being able to leave the house for what seems like an eternity.
On a side note, Louise, the kitty who recently entered into her lady cat-hood, just came home from the vet yesterday after getting fixed. Because we live in a zoo with three stories, the vet instructed us to keep her removed from the other pets and off stairs for two weeks. We’ll be lucky if that lasts through the weekend. Regardless, we’ve set up a little red tent for her in the office to recuperate and rest.

 

This afternoon, I groggily made my way to the office to check in on the little miss. Closing the door behind me so Gatsby wouldn’t barge in, and Louise wouldn’t break out, the knob on my end of the door fell off. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Actually many knobs on many of our doors fall off. In fact, most doors don’t really close at all in my house (more on that in another post…) This is, however, the first time its happened when I was on the wrong side of the door and home alone.

As I realized that I had just locked myself into the office, panic fell over me and irrational emotion-filled tears promptly followed. Katie wasn’t coming home until nine! I had just gotten off the phone with my go-to personal medical advisor (my mom) who told me I was close to dehydration and if I wasn’t careful, might find myself in the hospital. A vision of me passed out on the floor next to a stitched up cat came to mind. I even briefly considered re-hydrating myself with her bowl of water…. briefly.

Twenty minutes passed and I finally noticed a laptop was in the office (thank goodness we have four computers in the house!) And so began the panic emails. I sent an email to every address that Katie had ever owned begging her to call her parents to drive all the way in from Renton to come let me out… Thirty minutes later when there was no response, it dawned on me that maybe she wasn’t in front of her computer all day like many of us are.

I wondered if any of the doors or windows were open around the house. As this idea began to develop I realized that not only was I not wearing a bra or shoes, but had failed to brush my teeth or shower and probably looked like the walking dead. Since I was more desperate to get out of my captivity, I swallowed my pride (thank goodness this is Tacoma) and popped out the window screen. After tightrope walking along our white picket fence (the office stands over the basement driveway and is therefore nowhere near the ground) I hopped into our lawn and began my reconnaissance of trying to break into the house. It’s times like these when you have an ironic appreciation for how secure your house really is. Without breaking an antique window, there was no way into the home except back through the window I had previously escaped from.

By now a good hour and a half had passed. I was trying not to think about my panic of being locked in the office the rest of the day and set out to get some work done. It was when I finally cleared my head, that ideas for breaking the lock came to mind. I didn’t have any tools with me, but all my sewing supplies are in the office. Using a pair of sewing scissors (super spy style), I fit them into the slot where the knob was supposed to be and miraculously opened the door.

It’s funny, despite my relief for freedom, the quick success of my efforts was a little anticlimactic. Not that I had visions of news coverage, balloons, and welcome camps à la Chilean Miner’s rescue… (and Gatsby was pretty happy to see me out)… it just made me feel a little dumb that the simple solution hadn’t occurred to be two hours prior.

I spent the rest of my afternoon of freedom avoiding the office and drinking plenty of fluids. Though I’m still sick there’s nothing like locking yourself in a room to remind you that it could always be worse.

******

I can’t help but giggle every time I hear this story. (Sorry, Carina.)

Don’t forget to follow Carina on Twitter and check out her fabulous blog!

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Guest Post: I hate this blog

Guest Post: I hate this blog 2

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I figured it was high time I allow my dog Jolie a post on this blog. Don’t believe anything she says. Especially the part about not being a virgin.

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I’ll keep this brief, as typing with paws is difficult and time-consuming.

My mom started this blog nearly a year ago, and I’m not too happy about it. She sees it as a forum to bash me and reveal all of my best kept secrets. But now it’s my turn…and I want to take this opportunity to make a few things very, very clear.

1. I am not a 49-year-old-virgin

Mom thought this post about my lack of a love life was really cute. Well guess what, mom? It wasn’t cute or accurate. There was an incident with a Yorkie in 2006 that I haven’t told you and dad about for obvious reasons. And by “obvious reasons” I mean me being ashamed of the fact that I was deflowered by the only breed that is sissier than a chihuahua-miniature pinscher mix. Also? I’m going to be 56 in August. It’s called fact checking. You should try it some time.

2. You should have some respect.

It’s not nice to create an entire page on your website dedicated to unflattering photos of someone. If dogs were allowed to buy domain names, I would snatch up KatrinasFatCollegePhotos.com and go to town.

3. Dogs can be modest, too.

I counted, and there are twelve separate photos that show my nipples on this blog. Twelve. I wonder how mom would feel if there were twelve photos of her nipples on this blog? Yeah. That’s what I thought.

4. I’m FROM Mexico.

Seriously. I can’t believe I’m not with them on this stupid trip. It’s my homeland for dog’s sake. All weekend while they’ve been lying around in the sun, drinking tequila, I’ve been stuck in this house with Rocky the poodle. He’s starting to grow on me, but if we’re being honest, I kind of had my sights set on a cabana dog.

A non-yorkie cabana dog.

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