And still no real reason why Maggie scratches.  I did like the vet much better though- we went to Greenfield Vet Clinic on the recommendation of an iFriend. The vet did every test in the book and Maggie behaved like a champ. He poked and prodded, scraped and cut… and she never peeped. I’m a proud mama. She did, however, pee out of nervousness the minute I separated her from Lulu. Can you blame her?

She has a bacterial infection which is both caused by the scratching and exacerbating the scratching… but we still don’t know what causes her to itch in the first place. No mites, no fleas, no ringworm. At least that means it’s nothing gross I guess.  This vet was very helpful though- he talked to me for a whole hour! He told me every possible cause of scratching and which he doubted were the culprit.  And he was the first vet to say that Maggie probably doesn’t have a food allergy.  He also told me that Maggie has… pattern baldness! I guess it’s not that uncommon in some smaller breeds, but I had never noticed it. She doesn’t have much hair behind her ears, on her chest, and on her hind legs. So apparently she needs a doggie toupee or something.

In human form, she would basically look like this:

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So now she is on an antibiotic, a steroid, special omega-3 and 6 capsules, and she gets an antibacterial bath weekly. What a sickly little pup! My wallet is hurting too.

I love Natalie Dee’s comic today. I post it here, in honor of Lulu’s non-stop lickfest of my arm right now.

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People just named Matt Damon as the annual “Sexiest Man Alive.” I’m not so sure I see it. I like his character in the Bourne movies… he’s nice looking and all. Buff, intelligent, etc. I get that he’s sexy. But sexiest? I can think of plenty of male celebrities that seem more fitting of the honor…

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Sorry Matt. You don’t make my list.😦 C’est la vie!

Also, People seems to have chosen some pretty awful pictures for the rest of the honorable mentions. These are men who are famous in large part because of their looks, but you would never know it from these terrible photos.  I give you Brad Pitt:

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He sort of looks constipated, no? And this is one of the most ridiculous pics of Ryan Reynolds I’ve ever seen:

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What’s with the thumb chomping and angst-ridden look? Patrick Dempsey doesn’t fare any better:

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Did he just hit his head?  He looks confused too. It’s got to be a head injury.  And JT, a normally attractive man, just looks… well…

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…all bug-eyed. And his shit-eatin’ grin isn’t helping much.

Someone in the photography department needs to be fired. Or whoever chose these pictures to be representative of sexy. Because I’m just not seeing it.

I have had it with Maggie’s skin issues. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. She is almost never completely free from some malady, and I am so tired of vets giving us vague suggestions. “Try switching her food- maybe she’s allergic to something?” Well, WHICH food should I try? WHAT ingredients should I avoid? “Try this medicated shampoo.” Ok– didn’t work. “Let’s take some skin scrapings“–nothing shows up.

I am taking her to a new vet tomorrow afternoon who specializes in second opinions. I guess the first visit is free, so if he can’t give me some straight answers and concrete suggestions, I won’t have wasted much besides my time. It’s just especially frustrating because her problems seem to change and move. Sometimes the problem is on her chest, sometimes her hind legs, sometimes her ears. Sometimes it’s scabby, sometimes scaley, sometimes swollen. And since Lulu never “catches” whatever Maggie has, it’s seem like whatever it is can’t be all that contagious. So maybe it’s not bacterial or fungal? Maybe it is an allergy? This picture gives you an idea of how splotchy she is… :o(

*sigh* I don’t know–I’m not a vet. But my goal is to have Maggie looking like a champ by New Years! Wish her luck tomorrow! Hopefully she doesn’t get so nervous she pees…

Man…. I only have 16 more days of “early-twenties” left in my life. I am officially depressed about this. I was getting ready this morning and I realized that I am covered in age spots and tiny little wrinkles around my eyes. And of course I have that big wrinkle on my forehead. And I could swear I’m getting some corner-of-the-mouth wrinkles, probably from all the frowning I do. The skin around my eyes is all dry and I finally know what those wrinkle cream commercials are talking about when they refer to “crepe-ing” or however you spell it. My eyes are crepe-y!

I don’t want to turn 26. I want to stay 25 forever! Do you remember when you were about 16 and you would see your friends’ older siblings who were maybe 22 and think, “Sweet jesus that guy is practically ancient! He must have grown-up problems like what kind of beer to buy and what kind of clothes to wear from Abercrombie.” And then when you got to college and everyone over about 22 seemed like an old fart who had no party left in them? 25 year olds simply cannot party… duh. They are too busy raising families and dealing with arthritis. And I’m pretty sure people over 30 didn’t exist in my universe until very recently. I was in denial or something.

My last birthday really sucked. Turning a “quarter century” just isn’t fun, no matter how you look at it. Well, maybe it would be fun if you were some kind of cancer survivor and living until 25 was an accomplishment. I just remember waking up on my 25th birthday and thinking how much my back hurt. And how much I needed a strong cup of coffee. And then my dad told me that when he turned 25, he cried. Oy vey. To make matters worse, John’s birthday isn’t until May. So this means I am officially “older” than him. HE’S the spring chicken. HE’S as fresh as a daisy. Not ME.

I try to remember my wrinkle creams every morning and night, but I guess I still have that youthful habit of passing out in bed with my contacts in, my face unwashed, and the tv on. I guess it doesn’t really matter, because according to Consumer Reports, wrinkle creams really don’t do a bit of good– and they tested them all. Just wear sunscreen and keep your skin hydrated, they say. That really takes all the fun out of it, don’t you think? I liked hanging on to the hope that a miracle-in-a-jar existed.

So when I wake up on November 29th, I will officially enter the “mid-twenties,” or for you pessimists out there, the “late-twenties.” (I cringe even typing that.) I expect to see this in the mirror:

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I will let you know how the birthday goes. But don’t be surprised if my keyboard malfunctions due to excessive crocodile tear exposure.