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    <title>Gooseberried</title>
    
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    <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:weblog-378867</id>
    <updated>2009-07-15T00:00:00-07:00</updated>
    
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        <title>I bet you know who I am</title>
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451605369e201157200b99b970b</id>
        <published>2009-07-15T00:00:00-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-07-15T00:00:00-07:00</updated>
        <summary>On Sunday night, Eddie invited me to go over to his disc golf/bowling friend's house to have dinner with him, his girlfriend and few of their other friends. The girlfriend of his friend made some amazing lasagna and later in...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Gooseberried</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="My life" />
        
        
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>On Sunday night, Eddie invited me to go over to his disc golf/bowling friend's house to have dinner with him, his girlfriend and few of their other friends.  The girlfriend of his friend made some amazing lasagna and later in the night, a co-worker of hers asked if he could have some of the leftovers.  Since Eddie and I were going to go run a quick errand anyway, we agreed to let her tag along and stop at her work to drop off some food to her friend since he wasn't able to come to the dinner because obviously, he was working.  </p><p>She works at a restaurant downtown and I don't know if I've ever explained it before, but downtown Flagstaff is a quaint, one way lane area.  It's the only area that reminds me of other urban cities because there's actual apartments above businesses, hard to find, parallel parking and alley ways.  We parked in an alley way near her work and while she ran in to deliver the food, Eddie and I hung out in his car and waited for her.  I was talking to him about something which I can't remember when suddenly a group of people walked by and one of them shouted, "Hey!  That's Michelle Toth in there!"  And they kept on walking.  At the announcement of my name I shouted back and said, "Hey!" and waited for a response but the group of kids just kept walking away.  It was nighttime in an alleyway and therefore dark.  So, I couldn't see who the person was.  </p><p>And this is why, a few months ago, leaving Flagstaff was so appealing to me.  I can't even sit in a person whom I've known for a month's car in a dark alley way without being known.  Every where I go I see someone and while I do enjoy a sense of community, sometimes it is nice to have some portion, even if small, of anonymity.  I'm not a rock star and I don't live in Heber anymore, so I feel like this sort of stuff shouldn't be happening.  Especially because Flagstaff really isn't that small when you think about it.  </p><p>I'm glad my job hunt for positions in other states ended up not working out for me, because I've met some awesome people since then.  But other times I long for a way to start over and be the unknown.  <br /> </p></div>
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    <feedburner:origLink>http://www.gooseberried.com/starboard/2009/07/i-bet-you-know-who-i-am.html</feedburner:origLink></entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Bad stomach</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/gooseberried/~3/VdPku1rKbgg/bad-stomach.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.gooseberried.com/starboard/2009/07/bad-stomach.html" thr:count="5" thr:updated="2009-07-15T05:23:06-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451605369e20115710bf9ae970c</id>
        <published>2009-07-14T00:11:00-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-07-14T00:11:00-07:00</updated>
        <summary>Bowie has always had stomach problems. At first, I thought it was because she ate everything she could and honestly, I'm sure that didn't help. Then, back when I lived with my old roommate, Jenna and her doggie, George, Bowie...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Gooseberried</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Woof" />
        
        
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>Bowie has always had stomach problems.  At first, I thought it was because she ate everything she could and honestly, I'm sure that didn't help.  Then, back when I lived with my old roommate, Jenna and her doggie, George, Bowie started to throw up with each meal.  I went online and did my research just like I always have with every single Bowie issue I've ever had.  I read about how when dogs eat with other dogs, they scarf down their food as fast as possible to avoid it getting stolen by the other dogs.  So, Jenna and I started feeding Bowie and George at separate times, separate rooms.  It still didn't help.</p><p>I called my vet.  She said that maybe Bowie is still eating too fast despite George not being in the room.  So, for two weeks straight, I hand fed Bowie one little piece at a time with minutes in between each bite.  It would take us a half hour or so for her to eat.  And it still didn't help.</p><p>My vet suggested she get tested for worms.  I took her in and she checked out fine.  Finally, my vet said to just wait it out and see what happens.  After about a month, she finally stopped puking with every meal.  But that still didn't stop her from throwing up in the middle of the night at least twice a week.  Bowie always makes this dry heaving, ralphing noise for about a good thirty seconds before anything finally comes up.  I've gotten so good at waking up instantly upon hearing that noise even if it's three o'clock in the morning and I'm dead asleep.  I pop up, grab a plastic bag and hope to make it under Bowie's snout before she finally throws up.  You'd be surprised how amazing I am at this.  </p><p>And now here I am, a year living in my studio apartment, and up until about a month ago, Bowie was still vomiting regularly.  I just realized how weird this subject is and how grossed out you all must be at this point.  My vet and I were both perplexed.  I was already using nice food and doing everything we could both think of.  Finally, Mrs. Vet decided to try and narrow it down further to the bare specifics.  She said, "You can either first try to change up Bowie's food to a brand I can recommend to you, or you can try and see if her rope has caused it by taking that away from her for a while."  The thought of taking away <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/gooseberried/3163602917/in/set-72157601605585104/" target="_blank">Bowie's favorite toy in the whole wide world</a> made me and Bowie cringe.  No way was that happening!  So, even though it was the more expensive option, I went with switching up the food.  That is, switching up the food to a $22 small (very small) bag of it.  Ouch.  Just typing it makes my muscles tense. </p><p>But it's been a month and I think you'll all be happy to know that it's working.  I can't even remember the last time she vomited.  Plus, she gets to keep her rope!  Now that her stomach is feeling all better and normal, she is more apt to beg while I, or anyone else, eats.  When she looks at me with her cute, yet sad face, eyebrows raised, lips pierced, hoping for any escapee morsel, I say to her, "You see that bowl of gold over there next to your water dish?  That's yours to eat.  This is mine."  And all the while I'm thinking about how the meal I'm eating is cheaper than what her bowl contains.   </p></div>
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    <feedburner:origLink>http://www.gooseberried.com/starboard/2009/07/bad-stomach.html</feedburner:origLink></entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The new person</title>
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451605369e2011571fa5112970b</id>
        <published>2009-07-13T06:16:34-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-07-13T06:16:34-07:00</updated>
        <summary>It's makes me happy when... ...I meet someone and suddenly the entire world around me melts away. ...that same someone can't seem to get enough of me. ...he loves Bowie as much as I do. ...he takes her out to...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Gooseberried</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Amour?" />
        
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://www.gooseberried.com/starboard/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>It's makes me happy when...</p>

<p />

<p>...I meet someone and suddenly the entire world around me melts away.</p>

<p>...that same someone can't seem to get enough of me.</p>

<p>...he loves Bowie as much as I do.</p>

<p>...he takes her out to play Disc Golf while I'm at work.</p>

<p>...he buys me a universal remote because I'm missing the one to my TV.  </p>

<p>...he brings me lunch.</p>

<p>...he makes me laugh.</p>

<p>...he doesn't judge the fact that I have a blog and in fact, uses the term 'gooseberried' in sentences.</p>

<p>...he communicates with me so that I never feel clueless as to what's going on.</p>

<p>...he kisses me.</p>

<p>Meet Eddie:</p>

<p /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/gooseberried/3702058737/" title="Untitled by gooseberried, on Flickr"><img alt="" height="375" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2508/3702058737_fdb87c5dbf.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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    <feedburner:origLink>http://www.gooseberried.com/starboard/2009/07/the-new-person.html</feedburner:origLink></entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Jim agrees</title>
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451605369e2011571ce98e6970b</id>
        <published>2009-07-06T23:00:00-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-07-06T23:00:00-07:00</updated>
        <summary>It's true. Before Michelle scooped me up and squeezed the occasional entry from me (a process that sounds much sexier than it actually is) I had been blogging for about 8 years. I started some time in middle school and...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Gooseberried</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Jimazoid" />
        
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://www.gooseberried.com/starboard/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">It's true. Before Michelle scooped me up and squeezed the occasional entry from me (a process that sounds much sexier than it actually is) I had been blogging for about 8 years. I started some time in middle school and you can already imagine the quality of the writing and the pearls of wisdom I was able to muster at that age.<br /><br />Regardless, every single entry was saturated with honest emotions. I made and lost a few friends with the entries but I was cocky and angry enough to believe - nay - to know that what I was saying was right and that anyone who decided to get in a fight with me was just an idiot. It was an unhealthy attitude, but it was the most productive writing I've ever produced. Though in the real world at that age I was lying rather often (rather big lies, too). I was honest and without regret on the internet. Unfortunately, my early entries have been lost to the ages as various sites I used have disappeared or I would regail you with bits of 8th grade wisdom such as "everyone except me is stupid" and "you are stupid but I am not."<br /><br />I was versatile and, as you can tell, have since discovered many more ways to express the same ideas.<br /><br />The reason I mention this, beyond Michelle providing an easy prompt, is that it's stranger being honest and opinionated like that when not only are people you don't know reading your words but it's not even your page. I am a guest, a boorish intruder. I am that guy at the end of the night who doesn't pick up on subtle hints like "Well I have to get up early tomorrow," and "Gee, it's late."<br /><br />I could tell you that this weekend I was taking care of my friend Blake's dog and another dog from one of his family friends, but you have no idea who Blake is or why you should be excited to read about how fat Chloe has gotten. If I told you that the extra dog is going blind and headbutted my testicles several times quite by accident (though the last time had a hint of malice in the motion) you might laugh at the low humor, but you have essentially no connection to me, the dogs or the situation. I could explain it all, of course, but the sheer space necessary to really get into the story of my weekend with strange dogs would be, well, a blog unto itself. Think of how much time you've spent with Bowie on this blog.<br /><br />So I have to write things that are honest and open enough that you can connect to them even if it's only akin to the manner in which you might nod slightly whilst passing a distant acquaintance on the street.<br /><br />Or, seeing as how I now have my own tab and extremely flattering picture here on Gooseberried, I should quit dicking around and introduce myself proper so I can join Michelle in writing fearlessly and providing you - yes you, dear reader - with the type of blogging you can proudly display on your list of favorites. Or at very least, give you some tidbits of information about the goings on in my life and perhaps we can all live vicariously through one another.</div>
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