There Are No Puns for Playing Hooky

After googling how to correctly spell hooky (I thought hookie, but spell check said NO with an obvious dotted red underline), I came across this link:

How to Play Hooky

Apparently the internet provides amazing tools. I wish I would have found this when I decided in my sleep to not wake up and not go to class. Unfortunately, this decision occurs way too often (and always while I'm horizontal, under three blankets, and spooning my dog for warmth). I like to think I'm being positively reinforced to miss class when my poor attendance does not affect my grades. How is this possible? Large lectures with easy to read textbooks? Small classes with only two papers counting towards an actual letter grade? Yeah, pretty much.

So, after waking up and realizing that commuting (let me interject here-- my dog just sat down in front of me, stared into my soul, and huffed. What am I not doing?) is taking a heavy toll on my mental capacity to fight senioritis, I decided to do some school work and clean the house. Instead, I ended up spending a wonderful day with my best friend Kitsune:

At first, this just consisted of me bothering him while he napped on our "king" sized bed. I put quotation marks around the "king" to emphasize that it is not a true king-- oh, one day that dream will be fulfilled. Until then, Brian and I have fashioned a large bed with two twins and a mattress pad. Works wonders, but we hate the crack.

Finally, I got tired of him being lazy on the bed and I picked him up and put him in the living room so I could have some company while I folded laundry. I then proceeded to swaddle him against his will:

This is him giving in and embracing the warmth of the blanket. Too cute, but also incredibly hilarious.

I must add-- the laundry is still sitting in the laundry basket on my couch. I may or may not get distracted too easily...

So our escapades in the house continued and I forced Kitsune to put up with my weird behavior (I say that as he sits next to me licking a pillow, but then again, he is a dog). I like to think this all came from my incessant need to not do homework. We decided (yes, we) to see if we could both fit into Brian's NYU sweatshirt. That shouldn't be a problem considering how large his sweatshirt is:

He was obviously starting to have fun here. (Don't mind how ridiculous I look without makeup and fixed hair.) Unfortunately, I had to get down to business and do some work. So I started back with laundry. Brian and I had just come back from Thanksgiving break in Virginia and Pennsylvania (with my family) so I figured I'd help out more with our chores and wash those clothes. I finished unpacking and locked Kitsune up in his crate so I could take the laundry down to the basement and not have to worry about him tearing up important papers (let's not forget the Passport War of June 2010!! Kitsune never surrenders!). I went to grab some laundry that got thrown into the linen closet and suddenly felt a hard prickly object on my cheek. Quickly realizing I was just attacked by a large monstrous cricket, I squealed and flailed, slapping my face repeatedly and jumping up and down.

Kitsune stood alert. He barked loudly, obviously concerned for my well being. I saw my enemy perched on the closet door, standing safely between me and my dog. I had to exterminate it and I knew my best bet was to send Kitsune after it. I threw objects at it, making it move in the right direction. Out of my path, I ran past and let Kitsune out. He ran into the bedroom, jumped on the bed, searched high and low. Sigh. I literally had to point his nose at the cricket. So much for a hunting dog.

One down. Kitsune loves to eat those things. Well, play with them then eat them. I don't care what his method is, I'm just glad he's here to get rid of them so I don't have to.

I went back to the closet to check for more. I didn't want to be surprised like I was the first time. Crickets are horrible. Crickets on your face are the worst. Just as I'd suspected, there was another cricket, twice the size of the first, grasping the wall of the closet. I guided Kitsune inside to search. He spotted the prey, lunged forward, and attacked. The cricket jumped to the side and hid behind our stores of toilet paper. Did he get it? Did it escape? Kitsune looked at me quickly, then returned for reconnaissance:

This whole time, I'm texting Brian furiously. And also laughing at how odd this whole situation is. I started helping Kitsune out-- pulling the toilet paper and the paper towels out. That little bugger was hidden good, and with all of his barriers gone Kitsune pounced. I jumped up and down like a little kid and shouted "Yeah, Kitsune! Good boy!" I think I need more human friends.

I then decided he could come to the basement with me in case any more crickets decided to take revenge for their fallen comrades. They must have heard about Kitsune's wrath, because none appeared. At least I actually got laundry done.

Which reminds me, I should probably get that load out of the dryer now.

Moral of the day is: only play hooky if you've got someone to play hooky with. Or maybe it's don't lock your back-up in a crate before the fight begins?

(Can I also say how amazing the iPhone 4 camera is. Talk about photo quality from a phone!)