Belated Resolution: Make More Time For Writing, And Less For Bullshit

It’s April, and yet here I am just now making a New Year’s resolution. The only really great thing to come out of E being gone on set for a month (other than the fact that, ya know, he filmed a pilot) was that I had a lot more time to myself and a lot more time to write.

I wrote when I woke up, and then a bit when I got home, and got into the habit of writing or reading rather than what I’d usually do. (Watch TV, troll Facebook, check Instagram, stare into the fridge until some food spoke to me.)

I forgot how much can be accomplished in a day, even a weekday when you’re working and come home slightly exhausted. Still being able to continue writing and get something of your own done feels… pretty great, really. And on the weekends, there were often entire days where I did nothing but write. I’m currently working on two side projects that I’m really excited about, and most important is that they just make me plain happy to work on.

E is oddly enough also in a place where he has to spend his downtime working on writing and reading. (For him it’s reading other writers scripts and working on his series document.) It’s actually been nice. He can read a script, and I can read Infinite Jest. (I never read this book before, because I was intimidated by the length, but I have to say that I’m loving it. It’s weird and funny and very inspiring.) On the weekends, he can work on his pilot material, and I can work on my own projects.

I don’t know what will come of these projects. Hopefully one will be published, and the other will be seen. Worst case scenario is that I’ve spent a lot of time on something I really enjoy, so it’s not a bad situation to be in at all. It also, of course, means slightly less blogging on my end. Not that blogging is part of the bullshit I’m spending less time on, god knows I love blogging, and I’m determined to do at least two posts a week.

So there you have it: my belated new year’s resolution is now in full swing. Plus, I’ve written it on this blog, so other people can now hold me accountable and potentially shame me if I start slacking. (Feel free to shame me, btw. Shame is an oddly motivating force that is entirely underrated.)

How I’m Learning To Deal With Change (Kinda)

E is leaving to start shooting his pilot, and I’m SO excited beyond belief. I’m not lying when I say that. This whole process of getting it picked up by CW, watching him go through casting the series regulars, and hearing him talk about budgets and script changes has been fascinating and fun. I couldn’t be prouder of him. And it’s all been smooth sailing…

Until I realized that THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING.

Change Jar

As someone who really loves to control things, it’s been insanely difficult to let go of that control. E leaves tonight to spend three weeks in New Mexico on his pilot. I want E’s pilot to go well. I want it to get picked up and go to series. I want it to get all of the attention it so rightfully deserves. I want his time filming the pilot to be some of the best days of his life. But because I can’t control any of that, the rest of my life became somewhat paralyzing for me. 

I haven’t been able to write. Or if I do write, it’s like barely anything is coming out. I’ve been procrastinating a lot, which isn’t like me, and finding plenty of excuses to just do nothing. It’s as if by not blogging regularly, and not doing my morning writing, I am somehow delaying the process of him leaving. Like, if I stop doing the things that always propel me forward, time will slow and things won’t actually change. As much as I was trying to protect myself, I think in some ways I also thought I was protecting E from the unknown WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?!

In reality, of course, things have changed: E is still about to leave, and I’ve all but stopped my own personal writing. It’s only now, the day that he’s leaving, that I’ve been able to fully recognize what I was doing and why I was doing it. The WHAT being that I had backed myself into a corner. The WHY being that I was trying to fortify us both against the unknown.

I think seeing E pack his things this morning really snapped me out of it. This is happening. I have no idea what’s going to come. And the only thing we can both do is our best. E will be amazing in New Mexico, and he has a phenomenal team of people helping him create his dream show. And I need to be supportive, and accept that some things are simply out of my control.

I will drive E to the airport tonight, and I will come home and try not to worry about what’s to come. I think I can sometimes get so wrapped up in thinking about the future, that I often forget to just live in what’s happening right now.

I don’t know if this is something other people have experienced. A lot of times, when I realize just how much change affects me, I really wish I didn’t feel the need to know what’s going to happen. But I have no idea how to fix that part of myself, or if it needs fixing at all. I just know that all I can do is move forward and stop trying to control it all. If only because I can’t control it. (Also, to quote Sheryl Crow, maybe a change will do me good!)

Happy Caturday: Here’s Fish Playing With A Spring

I haven’t taken as many videos and photos of Fish as I should, and that’s mainly because I’m usually too busy playing with her. She’s a year and a half, but it feels like she still has the energy of a kitten. She REALLY loves chasing things and subsequently sitting on them until she’s ready to chase again. I can’t imagine where she gets that from…

Our First Week With Fish The Cat, And That Time She Pooped Everywhere

Here’s a conversation I had with E the other night over a large glass of wine:

Me: Hey, remember when we didn’t have a cat?

E: No.

Me: Me neither.

It’s only been a week with Fish, but it feels like she’s been here forever. And I mean that in the best way possible. Here’s how the week has gone…

Fish and E

Day 1: A woman from the adoption center comes to our house to make sure it’s cat friendly. E and I nervously fidget while trying to hide all of that anti-cat propaganda we secretly have. After roughly three minutes have passed, we sign a contract saying that we’ll be taking Fish home, and she leaves. HOORAY! ALL IS GOOD IN THE WORLD!

We get the OK to pick up Fish that day, so I run to Petco to pick up a litterbox, litter, and a totally unnecessary amount of cat food, which prompts the checkout boy to ask, “How many cats do you have?” To which I’m forced to reply, “Just one.” Humiliating.

Then I head to the shelter to pick up Fish. When I walk in, I see this actress who I recognize from The Newsroom and more importantly, from that one time when she tweeted a topless photo of herself. Alison Pill apparently volunteers at the shelter… and she clapped when she heard that I was adopting Fish. Everyone loves Fish. Even nice actresses with Twitter accounts.

So, I take Fish out of her little cage, and ever so gently nudge her into the cat carrier that I also bought at Petco. She doesn’t like it, and basically spends most of the car ride home mewing about it. But IT’S OK! BECAUSE SHE’S COMING HOME! HOORAY!

That first day at our house, she didn’t nap. Or sleep. She ate a little, and mostly went from room to room, trying to sort out if there were other cats hiding somewhere. She was edgy, (and rightfully so), but she also sat with us, and purred a lot, to basically say, I’m terrified, but let’s be friends! She ended up sleeping on our bed that night too, which was pretty freaking adorable.

Pensive Fish

DAY 2: It’s Super Bowl Sunday, and we’re cooking up a lot of food. And Fish wants to help, or eat it all, or both, so we spend the day training her not to go on the kitchen table, or the kitchen countertops. She seems to be understanding that going on those places means we’ll pick her up and say, “No!” And she doesn’t like the word “No.”

Day 3: I go to work, and E is home with Fish. We’re both a bit concerned, because Fish’s eyes have been twitching every few minutes, to a point where it almost looks like her eyes are shaking. The woman from the adoption center tells us that this often happens in Siamese breeds and it could be nothing, OR it could be a tumor. Because I’m a pessimist, my mind immediately goes for the worst possible scenario, and I make an appointment for Fish to go to the vet later in the week. I spend a lot of the day googling Cat Shaky eyes. Nothing good comes of it.

When I get home from work, Fish is sitting in E’s lap and loving life. It’s pretty adorable. It occurs to me that if Fish does have a tumor, I might actually drain my savings to get her whatever treatment’s necessary. E and I have a talk about what we’ll do if it comes to that, and it kind of broke my heart to think about.

Day 4: Fish has now learned that if she doesn’t jump on the countertops, she gets a treat. So whenever we go into the kitchen, she follows and dutifully waits to be rewarded for her good behavior. Meaning that she equates the kitchen with treats. We figure out that Fish is possibly too smart for her own good, and we are possibly not smart enough.

Day 5: I have to go to work, and since E is working from home, he takes Fish to the vet. It’s a really stressful morning, because I assume we’re going to find out she has a tumor, and am basically preparing for that. I text him all throughout the visit, and he says that she hates the carrier, the vet, and him for bringing her there.

About an hour later, we find out that Fish doesn’t have a tumor. Her eyes are twitchy, like other Siamese cats. And we don’t have to worry about that. But she does need a rabies shot, as it’s the law. So E and Fish leave the vet with a rabies shot and a big case of flea medication. It is a good day.

Day 6: Fish is sick from her rabies shot. She won’t eat. She didn’t sleep in our room the night before. She has a fever, or what we assume is a fever, because her fur is oddly warm to the touch. She doesn’t leave her cat bed the whole day, and we both feel like terrible cat parents. Why did we take her to the vet?! Will she ever be the same?! WE ARE BAD PEOPLE.

Fish High

Day 7: The rabies shot wears off, and Fish has returned to her old self. She experiences catnip for the first time (see photo above), and stares off in some kind of drunken cat stupor for a solid hour.

Then we go out to dinner with friends and brag about what an amazing cat she is. We’re proud kitty parents, and it feels good to have kept her alive for a full week (minus a few hiccups).

When we come home, the place smells undeniably of cat poop. Just a big wave of it when we opened the door. Then we see brown cat paw prints that lead to Fish’s litterbox. Turns out, while we were out to dinner, Fish relieved herself, stepped in that relief, and proceeded to flaunt it all over the apartment.

So, needless to say, we’re getting rid of Fish.

………………………..

Just kidding! We love her so much that we stayed up till 2 a.m. cleaning the poop floors, dumping out her litterbox, and airing the place out.

Day 8: We buy Fish new litter, because we’re convinced this Feline Pine mess isn’t cutting it. So far, no cat poop paws to be seen.

My Man E’s Life Is About To Change

If I had a nickel for all of the life changes that happened this week, I’d have two nickels. Because this week not only gave us a cat, but it also gave E a new job.

For the past year, E has been a staff writer for Teen Wolf on MTV, which was a lot of fun. (I got to be a hanger-on and go to viewing parties, premiere parties, and well, lots of parties, basically.)

But a pilot that he sold to the CW is now being ordered to pilot, and now that will be his full-time gig. (!!!)

E's pilot newsGetting a pilot order is kind of nuts, to be honest. Basically, the CW buys some pilot scripts, then they read those scripts and decide which one they’re going to film. Once they film it, they decide if it will actually go to air. And if it does go to air, that’s when the public gets to watch it. So, right now E is in the “WE’RE GOING TO FILM IT!!!” stage.

But there are so many steps in between all that. Like right now E is figuring out who will direct the pilot. Then he has to help find a casting person, and when they have one, they’ll start filling the roles on the pilot. And the list of things to do goes on for a good long while.

E will be a co-executive producer, which means that he’s important enough that he’ll be privy to most, if not all, of the small details that go into making a pilot. His last day on Teen Wolf was yesterday, and now he’s gearing up for about two months of non-stop work. It’s really exciting. And kind of nuts. But mostly, it’s just plain exciting.

Fish the CatAs for what Fish thinks of E’s new gig, when E got the news he texted me this picture of Fish. “Kitty is not impressed,” he said.

Typical fish.

 

Big News: We’re Adopting A Cat (!)

For anyone who knows me, one of the first things you probably find out is that I love cats. I talk about them so often that people will often just say, “What kind of cat do you have?” To which I then have to embarrassingly respond, “I don’t have a cat… YET.”

E is also a cat lover. (Thank God, because that honestly would’ve been a deal breaker for me.) And we both wanted to wait to check out a cat to adopt until after the holidays and after I came back from Sundance. So, last weekend our lives slowed down, and we decided to head to Sante D’Or, a local shelter by our home.

I cannot tell you how massively unprepared I was for cat adoption day. We walked into the shelter, and there were roughly 40 cats that peered back at us, all looking for someone to take them home. And at Sante D’Or, there are some cats in cages, and other cats are just walking around, rubbing against your legs, swatting at your head from perches. No matter where you turn, there’s a new cat face to lock eyes with yours and try to burn into your soul. We did a lap around the place, and the first cat that E noticed — like, REALLY noticed — was Misty.

Misty The CatShe was sitting quietly in a chair, minding her own beautiful business, and E pointed to her. “What about that one?” he said. When I first saw Misty, I will fully admit that she looked like any other cat to me. She was pretty, but was she the one?

I decided to sit down next to her. And let me tell you, Misty knows how to work it. Within seconds, she was sitting on my lap, and within minutes, she was rubbing her kitty face against my human face, and basically saying, “YES, I’M THE ONE, OBVIOUSLY.”

The thing about Sante D’Or, is that you have to put in an application for adoption. It’s not like other shelters, where they’re handing you a cat to take home that day, and trying to shove another three in your bag. No, at Sante D’Or, they have a thorough process, and when someone puts in an application for a cat, they put a sign on their cage that reads, “Adoption Pending.” I asked E to go find Misty’s cage, so we could see how old she was, her history, and other details about her. I was not prepared for what E found, because when he pointed to Misty’s cage, there was one of those little signs: Adoption Pending.

We asked one of the volunteers if the sign was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. I literally couldn’t stand up from the chair, because Misty was now standing on my chest, rubbing her furry head all over me.

“Oh, Misty,” one of the volunteers looked at her, then at me, then at the sign on that cage. I thought I was going to start crying. E was quite certain I would. It took me a few minutes to be able to actually pick Misty up, and put her back on the chair, alone.

Once I was able to leave her, it took me a while to adjust to the idea of not getting her. But I tried really hard, because it was cat adoption day, and we really wanted to put in an application. We walked around again, this time really checking out those adoption pending signs and not getting too attached to anyone. The volunteers showed us other lap cats. There was Rosie, and Ophelia, for example. They were great, but they weren’t Misty. Eventually, they showed us an area we had somehow missed, which is when we saw Smash — an orange tabby cat with a tail as fluffy as a duster.

Smash was sweet, younger than Misty, and extremely playful. We played with him for a good twenty minutes, and felt like if we couldn’t get Misty, then we could certainly take home Smash and love him to pieces. There were other people eyeing Smash, saying his name as if the cat was already theirs. So we hurriedly picked up an application and began to fill it out. When we filled out the app, we listed Smash as the cat we wanted to adopt, but also added a note. “If Misty becomes available, we’d like to adopt her.”

We turned in the application, waved goodbye to Smash, (and I secretly waved goodbye to Misty), and then carried on with our Saturday, knowing we wouldn’t hear back on the application for a few days.

Cut to Tuesday of this week, and my phone rings. A woman named Sandy left me a message, saying that Misty was available again, as her adoption fell through, and Smash really needed to go to a home with other cats already there.

I emailed E, because in those few days I’d kept telling myself we were getting Smash, and all of a sudden Misty was an option again. I was confused and, to be honest, a little torn. But he reminded me of how much I loved Misty. Then I looked up her Petfinder profile to remind myself:

Misty was brought to the rescue with her three legged daughter, Osita. After a close call with some street thugs, she’s got a clean bill of health and is ready for a forever home.

I didn’t realize she’d been a teen mom! Or had a three-legged daughter! Or been a street thug! All of it kind of melted my heart, and reminded me of what made Misty so amazing in the first place. I called Sandy back, and we decided to move forward with Misty, the girl who first stole our hearts.

On Saturday, we’ll have what’s called a “home visit,” where Sandy will come to our house, without Misty, and make sure that what we have is a cat friendly environment. We’ve already bought cat toys, cat treats, a litterbox, and even a cat shaped mat where we’re going to put Misty’s food bowls. Tonight I plan to clean and sweep and make this place SHINE so that Sandy can give us her cat stamp of approval.

If all goes well, we could be given the OK to pick Misty up, and take her back home with us that very same day. I’m feeling extremely excited about the idea of having her here, but also really nervous that it won’t work out.

In any event, I will keep you all posted on our cat adoption, and hopefully the next Caturday update will involve our very own cat!

The 10 Most Introvert Things I’ve Ever Done

Socializing, ugh. This weekend was very social for me. I had something to do Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, and they all took place outside of the comfort of my apartment. It was fun, but exhausting.

Tonight I have plans outside of my apartment as well. Which I’m excited about, because it involves friends and food. But because I’ve been out so much the past few nights, in order to not feel like I’m losing my mind I need to remind myself of simpler times. Of times when I was being a big introvert and loving every minute of it.

  1. Pretty much every time I told a friend I wasn’t feeling well, which is code for, “I’m feeling fine, but if we hang out tonight I will not feel fine. So, we’re not hanging out.”
  2. There was a Saturday, roughly two years or so ago, when I had a fuck it day, and turned off my phone. Then I made a pot of macaroni and cheese, turned on the Lifetime Movie Network, and painted. I took out a big canvas with all of my brushes, and I just painted, with Lifetime in the background, and I’d occasionally take mac ‘n cheese breaks. That was one of my favorite days.
  3. When I was going to USC for my master’s degree, and I found this one little nook that no one seemed to know about in the film school. I would hole up there for hours, just grading papers or writing, and no one was ever able to find me.
  4. In New York, at least once every weekend I would pop in my iPod, and walk for about an hour or two by myself. I wouldn’t talk to anyone, I would just walk and be with my thoughts and my iPod. That was delicious.
  5. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, then there was that summer when I lived on my grandparents ranch in one of their cabins all on my own. Every day was Christmas!
  6. I think that whenever E and I go to Big Bear, that’s basically like an introvert field trip to a place much calmer than Los Angeles. Bless Big Bear.
  7. I’ve always been a little bit addicted to going to a party, and leaving pretty early into it, before it’s socially acceptable to do so. There’s an introvert high there that’s fairly undeniable.
  8. On the whole, any time I go for a run or hike with E, that feels like quality introvert time.
  9. When I need a space to call my own at work, and I’m able to go in one of our conference rooms (but in particular, my favorite spot: the green room) and just sort of… ZONE THE EFF OUT. That feels quite nice.
  10. Oh, and my daily dose of introvert heaven when I wake up early in the morning (like right now), plop myself on the couch, and write.

OK, yes, now I feel much better about going out tonight, because I know that more introvert times await me.

The Problem With Getting Back Into A Fitness Routine

Griffith Park Bear

2013 was the year that I became incredibly lazy when it came to my health. The first half of the year was fine; I attended Bar Method classes regularly enough that I felt fit. I ate foods that were green. All of the things you need to tell yourself that you’re doing OK in life.

But the second half of the year… Holy guacamole did I give up on myself. Maybe “give up on myself” is too harsh of a sentence. It’s more like I stopped caring. Lost interest. Let myself stop going for runs. Slipped into a comfortable routine where each day was distinctly without a lack of exercise.

This is not like me at all. I’ve been working out, in one form or another, since I was seven. Whether that was soccer practice, or boxing classes — I was always an active kid. That’s not to say that I’ve been fit my whole life. I was fat in middle school. I know that I was fat, because people my age called me names, and my pediatrician told me that I might get diabetes if I didn’t get things under control.

Even when I was fat, though, I exercised. Clearly I didn’t exercise enough to change my body, but I was still active. And in high school, I joined cross country, which was arguably the most active I’ve ever been.

Cut to now: I’m turning 29 on Tuesday, and I can’t remember a solid week in the past 6 months where I was exercising regularly. It may not sound like a big deal, but it makes me feel… terrible, actually. Working out has always kept me level. If I’m having a bad day, I can go work out and feel like at least I accomplished a little something. I haven’t had that feeling of being leveled out in a long time.

Why has this happened? I don’t entirely know. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself over the past few weeks. I know that there have been a lot of mornings where I can either work out, or write more, and I have chosen to write more. And while E and I used to go for runs after work together, our work schedules have been conflicting enough where that hasn’t been able to happen. The drive home from work is too long. I’m tired. I will do it tomorrow. The list goes on.

I’m going to stop making excuses in 2014. That is a big resolution of mine. Working out and taking care of my body is going to become a priority again. If it comes down to working out or writing in the morning, I will work out, and write more at night. I’m going to get back into a routine that involves my fitness.

I made this resolution to myself yesterday before I went on a run. There’s this statue of a bear at the entrance to Griffith Park in Los Feliz. I see this bear everyday on my drive to work. Once, someone knit the bear a sweater, and when I drove past the bear was in a rainbow knit turtleneck.

Yesterday I ran for 20 minutes straight, and made it to that bear. It was a goal I’ve had since we moved here, and I made myself do it yesterday. Then I walked home from the bear, because I was exhausted. It was the first time I went for a run that lasted more than 10 minutes in a few months, and it felt insanely good.

The Conversation That’s More Awkward Than A Sex Talk

Online DatingThis Christmas was the first one that Eand I spent together. He met my family in Florida, and I flew to Arkansas to meet his. Both trips went well. My parents thought he was great, and my Mom loved the box of Godiva he bought her.

But my Dad asked a pretty basic question after E had left. “How did you two meet?”

My brother (bless his heart) had broken the news to my Mom pretty early on in our relationship. I got a phone call, “Did you meet E on a website?” she asked. “Robert told me that you met him on a website.”

Robert, my brother, had read about how we met when I wrote about the experience for The Underenlightened. I hadn’t really planned to tell my parents about it, and I always thought that if it came up, I’d invent a story. “We met through mutual friends,” was what I’d originally told my Mom. So, imagine her surprise when she’d heard this wild tale from my brother… right?

“Yes, we met online,” I said. I was caught, and I didn’t want to lie to her.

“Was the website called ‘Desperate Women’?” she laughed. My Mom obviously had opinions about online dating, and what doing it said about you as a person.

She wasn’t the only one who had opinions, of course. Even my best friends, people who were my age, told me I’d end up dead or part of a Dateline story. You know, fun stuff like that. Sometimes it made me feel bad, but mostly I just ignored them. Plenty of people online date, it just still has a crazy stigma attached to it.

I thought I’d gotten over the biggest hurdles with it. It still comes up every now and then when we meet new people and they ask how we met. But mostly, I thought we had all that under control.

Until my Dad asked the pointed question: “How did you two meet?”

I had always figured that if my brother told my Mom, then surely he’d told my Dad. And if he hadn’t told my Dad, then my Mom would have. It was such an innocent question, but it really took me by surprise that he didn’t already know the answer. We were at our kitchen table, and the TV was blaring loudly in the background.

“We met online,” I said.

“On what?” he asked. I didn’t know if he hadn’t actually heard me, or didn’t want to hear what I’d said.

“We met online,” I repeated. “I’m a modern lady.” I tried to joke. He heard me that time around.

“You did?” he said. His eyes were wide like saucers.

“Yup. All the kids are doing it.”

My Dad stood up from the table, and wandered aimlessly toward our couch. I could tell that he was surprised I’d met E online. He’d probably expected a much more common answer. “We met at a party.” “Our friends introduced us.” “I was writing in a coffee shop, and he asked me for my number.” But the truth is, I never met guys at parties, as all of my male friends skew gay. And the only guy who ever asked for my number in a coffee shop turned out to not have a cell phone and made me split the bill.

“Which website?” he asked. I think he wanted to know which site so that he could sort out the kind of person E was.

“OkCupid,” I said. He didn’t know what the site was, but he repeated it to himself. Like he needed to hear it out loud again.

My Dad shook his head, and wandered upstairs. He never told me what he thought about how we met. Or if he thinks it’s odd. I may never know, as I suspect he won’t ask about it again. But I got the distinct feeling that he never considered we’d met online, even thought most of my life is online. Talking about how E and I met with my Dad felt more awkward than any other conversation we’ve ever had. But I suppose once you rip that bandaid off, you’ll never have to address it again. I hope?

Has anyone else had to deal with a family convo that was THE MOST AWKWARD THING EVER?! Or is this just my lot in life?!

Meet George, Our Morbidly Obese Bearded Dragon

Every time I go home, one thing I look forward to is seeing what George is up to. George is my family’s pet bearded dragon, and he’s morbidly obese.

I should also say that after a recent vet visit, we discovered that George is, in fact,  a lady. Georgette. Still, we call her George, and often confuse pronouns.

Some of you may already know George from me chronicling his weight-loss journey over on La Rosa Knows. But for those who don’t know her, allow me to introduce you…George

George is now 5 years old, and has been on a diet for the past two years, mainly because our vet noticed that she was “unable to lift her body” and had “excessive abdominal fat pads.

If you don’t believe me, then here’s the doctor’s assessment to prove it. That note still hangs on my parents fridge, along with instructions for exactly how many worms a lady of her stature should be eating each day.

George Vet Visit

Since being put on that diet, George has lost weight. Even if it’s hard to notice any difference at all. For all practical purposes, George still appears to be morbidly obese. Her belly hangs over the small rock that she likes to perch on, and her little dragon arms still seem burdened by her girth. But there are small differences that we’ve kept track of over the past year.

She can now run across the floor with ease. RUN. Before, she sort of dragged her sagging belly until she became fatigued, and then just sort of sat in the middle of the floor and waited for one of us to fetch her.

While I was visiting, I watched her scurry up a rock on her own, then climb down, and waddle across her cage to a different rock. There were so many options! So many places to sun! And now she’s light enough to move to each one without working up a sweat! (Note: I have no idea if bearded dragons sweat. My guess is that they don’t, but what do I know.)


My parents have been really great about giving her 6 worms total a week. (Except for Christmas, when she got an extra worm as her gift.) Before that, it was something really decadent like 12 a week. As a result, George has really lost weight, and become a much happier dragon as a result.

Even if she doesn’t look it, (“That’s one LARGE lizard,” someone remarked at our family holiday party), she’s definitely acting like someone who was given a new lease on life. Hell, she’s basically able to outrun our cats now, who are downright baffled by her new svelte figure.

George 2If you have any words of encouragement, or advice for our plus-sized lady, please send them my way!