The Worst Thanksgiving Ever

Thanksgiving dinner had come and gone and my dog Emma sat on the floor by the table with our family and seemed physically fine. We gave her a little bit of turkey and the same amount of love and hugs and kisses she had gotten the past 13 years. She had some signs of arthritis, but we would always make sure she got her exercise, and because she loved the snow, I threw some in the air for her to catch in her mouth just that morning.

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I was watching a movie in my basement that evening when I heard her coming down the stairs to me. It was hard for her to get up stairs, but she always wanted to be around someone, and that dog loved me so much. This past May, she suffered her first (from what I witnessed) grand mal seizure. The vet claimed it was a brain tumor so we put her on Phenobarbital only to witness a second at-home seizure that June. Our regular, non-emergency vet, found her blood sugar levels had been at 600. She almost died that day but I got her to the clinic in time. She was diagnosed with diabetes and was on a twice-daily routine of insulin. Her vision deteriorated greatly over the past year, but she still went for her walks and followed us all around like a shadow. However, when I went to get Emma her shot Thursday, she froze up in fear and went into her first of five seizures that night. 20140410_38

The veterinarian at the emergency hospital told my mother and I that her blood sugar levels were only slightly high, and the probable cause of her seizures was likely a brain tumor. So which was it? Was she diabetic with bouts of epilepsy, diabetic with other undiagnosed complications from her diabetes, was she diabetic and had brain tumors? I’m pissed just thinking about the lack of clarity. Tests and CT scans would run upwards of $3,000 dollars, and if the vet was right, what could we have done with that diagnosis, anyway? Anesthesia is dangerous for an older dog, and removing a brain tumor? Forget about it.

20131225_75The next morning I went back to the animal hospital to have Emma relieved of her suffering. I can’t be sure if I made the right decision by not going into the room to watch her last breath. They gave us time in a separate room where she came in and wagged her tail, and I cried more than I ever thought was possible. I feel full of regret and guilt. Did I scare Emma into a seizure? If she never came downstairs with me, would she be alive today? This is my first significant loss of any sort, ever. I am having an extremely hard time handling the pain of being home. I have found that being with my boyfriend and friends helps, but I have to come home eventually, and her bed and toys and food dish are gone.

Emma was so full of love. Anyone that ever knew her was filled with positivity, if only for a moment. She loved everything and everyone. She never needed a leash and always stayed right in the yard. I cannot imagine owning a greater pet. But right now, nothing more consumes me than the last image of Emma at home, in my bedroom, taking the Milkbone treats without hesitation, then falling into a seizure again. I get to points where I think about the cremation process, and picture her lying there ready to be turned into ashes. It’s morbid, and I know I need to think of memories, but my brain won’t let me think of anything but the awful stuff. I really don’t know what to think, because we don’t know the official reason for having her put down. I don’t even know how to begin this healing process.

 

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Being Anti-Kardashian in A Pro-Kardashian World

I planned it all out last night: wake up earlier and post a blog declaring my hatred for Kim Kardashian’s new Paper Magazine cover photo. I could have blogged about my trip to Vermont, my decision to continue on to graduate school, or my plans to knit a friggen sweater. Instead, I’m blogging about why society shouldn’t pay Kimmy K. attention as I give Kimmy K. attention.

Disclaimer: I do realize that I am part of the problem. 

Capture1And I don’t want to be a part of that problem anymore but the need to constantly run my mouth about the talentless Kardashian klan is compelling. I mean, since they are not going anywhere, someone has to do it. There must be a balance between the fans and the anti-fans, or else this semi-honorable society as we know it is over. I understand that Kim is, in parts, a model, but no one should be force-fed brainless celebrities this much. It’s dangerous.

I was preparing for my anthropology presentation on Zambia yesterday when a group of students sitting next to my table started on and on and on about that photoshoot. (I had to Google whether or not photoshoot was, by English language standards, one or two words and the first thing that came up was…. guess!) Anyway, the students were praising whatsherface for “ignoring the haters.” I began recounting statistics about Zambia’s extremely high infant mortality rates over the background noises of Kim this, and Kim that. You know that little thermometer in cartoons that fills up red as the character’s anger increases? Okay. “I hope I look like that when I’m a mother!” They continued. Children could walk up to 20 miles a day for clean water; many die from diarrhea because the water is so polluted. The red line shoots up five notches on the fictional anger gauge. “Kris Jenner looks so good for her age.” Elderly women are left to die of starvation because of their children’s intentional neglect. The gauge explodes and I pack up my shit to study in the beautiful warm weather that Connecticut is known for in November.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Uncle Ben told Peter Parker.

Money equals power and power equals the huge capacity to do good for those less fortunate. The grand-scale of Kardashian wealth is sickening consider their lack of talent, and would prompt many to believe that with so much money, they’d actualy do something good with it. Imagine how far $10,000 USD could go in a country like Zambia. That’s a dress, a night out, a one-night stay in a hotel for some celebrities, clean water, clothing, food for whole populations elsewhere.

I was now shivering, huddled under my parka, damming the Kim-crazed students who drew me from the warmth of the library. I was wondering if all this time spent bashing Kim, there was some redeeming moment of charity of hers that I was ignorant of, I doubted it. I was seeing it all play out in my head… (cue harps and daydream bubbles)… if I were rich. “Give to the people!” Like, duh, isn’t that what we all promise to do as we walk out of the convenience store with 15 Powerball tickets? We would do: this, and this, and this, and this, and maybe buy ourselves something, too.

“Sarah, you’re getting way off track and you’re going to start your presentation quoting Spiderman and admitting your addiction to Powerball and the entire class is going to laugh or be scared.” See Kim! Look what you started here.

Class came and I channeled my inner-smart girl. I forgot all about Kim’s big ol’ photoshopped ass and my far-fetched plans from Powerball winnings and properly presented a wonderfully organized lecture on the more pressing matters in life.

But when I leave again it’s back to a Kim-obsessed world. I can’t check out of the grocery store with a roll of toilet paper without seeing a pair of soul-less Kardashian eyes staring back at me from one of the ten tabloids they monopolize. I sickeningly wonder what brand of toilet paper they prefer. Are their literal money-making asses too good for the wonderfully soft Charmin? Is their toilet paper hand-rolled by the most delicate of children’s hands, all of whom passed a rigorous interviewing process by Dictator Kris Jenner herself? Do they even poop? Okay, enough Sarah, they get it. 

For obvious reasons, the cup wouldn't stay on my butt. Is the back still sexy?

For obvious reasons, the cup wouldn’t stay on my butt. Is the back still sexy?

And the more we hate, the more Kimmy is relevant. #BreakTheInternet is one of the many examples of how much the world’s Queen of Good-At-Nothing doesn’t give a damn about our criticisms. It’s all money in the bank.

With the relentlessness of Kardashian fame, we have to look to ourselves as the problem. I am the problem for blogging about them. Tabloids are the problem for putting them on covers and people are the problem for buying them.

Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Onassis Kennedy, Anna Nicole Smith, Kim Kardashian. While a few of those ladies were tormented with inner struggles and public personal problems, one simply does not belong. Should I make it to my senior years, God willing, and look back on the icon of my generation, I surely won’t be looking back on anything substantial at all.

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