You Know You’re a Writer When…

…you Google things like “how long to recover from a stab wound” and don’t realize it’s shady until you get a bunch of forum results urging you to go to the ER.

…you chow down on dinner as you research said stab wound and only realize that might be gross when Google decides to give you some image results.

…you’ve had just enough whiskey to find all of this very funny, but not quite enough to reassure yourself you’ll feel fine in the morning. (Pro tip: another couple sips and you won’t have to worry about that hangover until it wakes you up. BETTER pro tip: stop drinking immediately and switch to water.)

…someone says depending on what area is stabbed, it could result in loss of arm abduction and you don’t know if it’s the whiskey or a typo OR if you should be concerned about arms being abducted and the people who would mourn the loss of the opportunity for such an arm abduction.

…you start to think these last few points would fit better under a heading like “you might have had enough to drink if…” and decide to call it a night.

…you laugh at that last one because the night is a writer’s time to shine. Or at least tell herself she’s achieving her dreams as she neglects sleep and curses the job that takes up so many hours of daylight.

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My “Sister” is a Bitch

I mean, seriously (she’s a dog):

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But also, she can’t even look at me when I’m talking to her? Rude.

Heidi (II) is the most recent in a long line of pups my family has owned. Since before I was born, we’ve had a Heidi (the original), Lucky, Pete, Becky, and Sasha.What makes this one so special?

This Heidi is my mom’s baby.

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This is a big deal because my mom is not really an animal person. She hates cats. She tolerates dogs. She’s responsible for several guinea fowl murders (they cackle and poop and are ridiculously ugly, so the jerks were one hundred percent asking for it).

Heidi II came along when Mom was empty-nesting hardcore. My brother was graduating college in a few months. I was getting married a few months later. And really:

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Can anyone help falling in love?

Being named for the family’s first dog is a great honor. The Original Heidi was, quite honestly, the best dog ever. She adored us. I remember napping on her, and riding her like a horse, and, I mean, just look at her:

She freaking pulled us around on a saucer in the snow.

This Heidi is crap compared to her namesake. She’s a diva. Here she is rolling her eyes at us:

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Such a bitch!

She barks if my mom hugs me too long. She wedges herself onto the couch between my dad and me. And yeah, she’s “not allowed” on the couch, but who would dare stop her?

Honestly, my brother’s gotten the worst end of the deal. He’s used to being the baby. The precious child. You know, living the “it’s all about the baby” kind of life. And now here comes our parents’ new furry child to fill the gaping holes we’ve ripped in their lives by simply growing up, and my brother has become the dreaded middle child, aka chopped liver.

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Blissfully ignorant of the fact he’s soon to be irrelevant.

But seriously, Heidi is all right. She’s sassy and has dumb moments like Sasha. She likes sneaking onto couches like Becky (even though Heidi is way better at it). She’s sweet like Heidi the First and loves to play fetch almost as much as Pete did. Her personality is strong, and it’s a funny, familiar combination of our past dogs. And she keeps my parents young and laughing. So I guess she can stay. Even if she tries to bite my feet when I visit. Even though she chewed on my mom’s wedding dress because I tried it on. Even if she’s not at all what I had in mind when I would beg my parents for a baby sister.

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