July 12, 2009
Hear on news which was on in the background, so I don’t have an attribution, but someone just said that Cheney had “served with fidelity.”
Well, just ’cause you’re technically faithful doesn’t mean you’re not pinching the admins. on the butts when they walk by…
July 10, 2009
When I searched for “So you want to start a dog park” (actual book name) on Amazon the second result I got back was “So You Want To Be A Woman: A Transse!uals’s Guide.”
July 6, 2009
I was thinking about doing Twitter, because I frequently have random thoughts that would be perfectly suited to Twitter’s über-haiku format. But then I think “what if I only have 2 followers?” and I think I would get depressed about that.
And then I thought about doing Facebook, because even some of my (ahem) uncles have been harassing me about not having a page. But I don’t need something else to suck my time away, and I don’t want to be in touch with anyone from high school except the one I’m in touch with, and I’m not going to be “friending” my boss, so WTF? I can’t even stay in touch with friends in the real world, so now I should be “friends” in the cyberworld?!
I guess I could use it to post pix and what – only – a- parent – thinks – is -perfectly – adorable- ramblings about my dog (the Poopy Diaper Chronicles?) and do some mini-twitters (something about a wall in FB? Mine would always say ‘Marie/y is walking her dog’), but I hear FB is addictive, and if there’s one thing that someone who quit smoking 6 years, 5 months, and 29 days ago does not need is something to become addicted to.
And then I review my life over the last couple of months, and it’s “all puppy all the time” (”and did I tell you she can stay ‘down’ for more than 10 seconds now? and she has the attention span of a butterfly?”)
yawwwwnnnnn – the Poopy Diaper Chronicles
Or possibly worse, with the exception of a no-holds-barred job hunt to move down South, I am living virtually the same life I was last year at this time: bitching about grass growing in the garden and not in the yard, working too much (although this year I have the punishment of making less money—yeah yeah, I know…at least I have a job–whatever–tell it to my 401k), walking the dog (albeit a new dog) all the time, talking about my grandmother’s Eureka Princess vacuum cleaner (it died btw), wondering where all the flies come from.
Sure there are a few variables, but essentially I am living Groundhog Day. Basically my life has been so rote that I don’t even have the twisted point of view to make fun of it here (or anywhere).
That was also an alarming realization – if nothing else I’ve always had my twisted perspective to see me through…
Add that to the fact that (for reasons out of my control) I haven’t had a vacation this year, nor met several goals I had for myself a year ago, and suffice it to say I had a mini-wakeup call.
So I decided that I’m going to re-frame this time in my life as a time to prepare for what lies ahead. Not that I know what that is mind you, but what I have now isn’t what I had planned…I’m not used to that – I usually meet my goals.
So for now I’m looking for cheap thrills (on every level) and am mixing it up a little: Going into work later, taking 1/2 day off, making more effort to see my friends, getting rid of toxic friends, seeing my cousin’s baby (who I keep calling my niece, but since I don’t see mine I’m adopting this one as my 3rd niece), going a different way to work, etc.
Even taking the dog somewhere different to walk, since I have walked every single street within the surrounding mile and am sick of it all. I now actually frequently drive my dog for a walk. That just seems wrong, but I don’t care. I’ll go stark, raving madder if I have to keep walking the same walk.
But yeah, I’m doing crazy stuff like that. Next thing you know I’ll be trolling for men in bars or something. Anything is possible. I just have to see the possibility through the b.s. I’m swimming in.
note to self: possible book title “Swimming in (Through?) Sh!t” – need subject
But, don’t abandon me dear reader (even those of you who’ve reduced me to your “check once a week” list). Short of an original thought, I have 50+ drafts I can always post, and stay tuned for my new dog treat name and tagline idea.
More to come but in the meantime I’ll be living a the dream.
June 26, 2009
hard to believe I ever considered becoming a professional organizer…
…really hard…
June 16, 2009
I couldn’t avoid,,,ran into had to see ,,saw the seventeen year man at a birthday party a couple of weeks ago.
Wait, let me back up: I actually chose to be in his presence at New Year’s thing because his brother was in town and I wanted to see him. But I pretty much ignored him. –>musical interlude–>”I’m looking through you- where did you go? I thought I knew you. What did I know? You don’t look different but you have changed. I’m looking through you. You’re not the same.” reeh reeh reeder reeder, reeh reeh reeder reeder “Baby you’ve changed. Yeah. I’m lookin’ through you.” (Beatles never go out of style.)<–end of interlude
<side note: I grew up with the whole family, was best buds with one of ‘em, dated one, have been friends with and in touch with many, and they’re pretty much my alternate family. Or have been in different phases of my life.>
Anyway, a few weeks ago, one of his sisters and I were talking and she asked if he’d called me. I was confused – as I said “Why would he call me?!” I couldn’t think of one reason, especially since I didn’t even talk to him at the holiday deal.
According to his sister, seeing me at New Year’s ’sparked’ something in him and he wanted to call and ask me out but (and this says everything I guess) ‘he was scared I would curse him’ if he called me.
Again, I must refer you to the prologue so you understand why I think I can rightly say this…but I told his sister that I wouldn’t curse him out (though clearly he had a clue about why I’d be justified doing so), however,
1. I think I know where that spark was located and it was a little south of the mind or heart, 2. did he forget that he ‘forgot’ to break up with me lo those 17+ years ago? and 3. he’s getting old and freaking out and wants a mommy to take care of him.
For some reason, I guess she never told him all that because he walked up to me at the birthday party (remember that topic?!) and said something random about going back to Amsterdam. I breezily wished him a good trip and walked away, when he called out “Muhree! blah blah blah – kept talking but lost me at Muhree“
<side note: My name is spelled Marie but it is (as you know) pronounced Mary (thanks again, Mom and Dad).>
I whipped around and said, “WHAT did you just call me?” You would’ve thought he had yelled out “hey ‘ho!” or “hey beeatch” if you’d heard how I said it, but I was beyond shocked. It just came out (the words that’d go on my tombstone if I weren’t being cremated).
Not only did he remember my name 6 months ago, but I’ve known this guy for the better part of 40 years. FORTY. Not to mention the 3+ years we were in a (apparently loosely-based) relationship. Seriously? “Muhreeeee?” WTF dude?! Way to ingratiate yourself. But I digress…
One of his sisters called me ‘Muhree’ at the bar after her mother’s memorial service, but she’s an alcky cokehead who lives across the country anyway, so while it pi**sed me off, this little malaprop (sp?) just frosted my as* for the rest of the night, as anyone who I talked at afterwards can attest to. Obviously, it’s bugging me enough still to even write about it…
I can forgive someone from grade school I haven’t seen for 10 years but FORTY?! Come on. Seriously, that would be like one of my blood relatives calling me Muhree. Some things are just not excusable…
I know I need to let it go, and I certainly don’t obsess over it or even ponder it (wwbd*?) but for now it is a fingernail on my chalkboard.
*what would buddha do?<–He wouldn’ write this rant, I can tell you that much…
June 13, 2009
Well, the last of the original ‘beasts of burden’ is now gone.
For the 3rd time in less than 3 months I had to put one of my “original” pets to sleep. Allie was my first “real” (non-fish, non-bird) pet. I never even thought I was an animal person until I got her from the Humane Society 15 years ago.
She had been found in an alley so I named her “Alley” but much like my own name nobody got it right, so it morphed into Allie.
I got better stories from Bubba but Allie lived a no less colorful life and had her own idiosyncrasies and unique qualities.
*She was annoyingly unmercifully affectionate, always trying to be right where I was all the time. “Talking” to me. Hence the suffix “the co-dependent kitty.” She always had to be nearby, if not on, me.
*She liked it when I held her tightly. Really tightly. She would relax into my arms and quit whining right away.
*She’d been separated from her mother too early and would try to suckle on my ear until the end. For real.
She’d get this look and wouldn’t even look at you, just at your ear, as she tried to go in for the suck. I warned several people, they didn’t believe me, and they experienced otherwise.
Fortunately she didn’t do this with too many people.
*Until very near the end she chased her tail, caught and dismembered rabbits (the 2nd to last one was brought into the living room and I dragged it, Allie, and the area rug they were on out to the front porch overnight), and rested on the kitchen window ledge looking at birds.
She was defintely the great hunter, having caught and partially dismembered innumerable m/voles as well as the aforementioned rabbits. Oh, and the snake (story here). Who could forget the snake?
*Several years ago she disappeared for 2 months and 1 day. She got trapped outside during a storm and freaked out and I guess ran. Twice I saw her down the block at the park but she was so traumatized (weird for such a co-dependent animal) that she wouldn’t come near me. I finally gave up.
Then one morning I was out in my garden and she toodled up and rubbed against me like I’d just seen her yesterday. She had lost some weight but she’d survived the mean streets of S’bury just fine.
From that point on, she put up with absolutely no sh** from any animal she didn’t want around. Girl was scared of her (for no reason) so she wasn’t an issue, but Bubba was used to being able to antagonize her at will. When she got back after her street livin’ she wouldn’t take it no mo.
*My favorite features were her Egyptian looking profile and her tan front paws that bowed outward like Vs.
Unlike Li’l Effer, Allie was calm at the end and died peacefully. I’ve been wishing the cats would finally die already, but I will miss her.
Yet I have to admit I felt a huge sense of freedom when I threw away the litter boxes the other day. Huge. Cannot be over-stated how huge…
I was confident I was over cats and then I saw this young cat in the ‘hood the other day. It was soooo sweet and affectionate. I wavered for a moment and then I remembered all the dead m/voles, rabbits, litter box scooping, the tail-breaks (objects broken by their tails), the amount of hair (example here).
The cats were a great addition to my life and I loved them mostly dearly, but I’m over the cat thing for now.
Allie (left) and Bubba in their “fat cat” days.
June 11, 2009
May 31, 2009
This time it’s for real. He went out just like he lived his nickname. The vet had to give him 2 sedative shots (each enough for a 50 lb. cat!) and I still had to hold him down when he gave him the “real” shot. He wasn’t even really fighting or threatening though, just growling…
I really didn’t want it to be that way. I wanted it to be calm and for him to not resist. But if he’d done that he wouldn’t have been my L’il Effer…at least his little constantly-purring engine died quickly.
I’ll miss my little Bubby. Nobody liked him but me and he didn’t really like anybody but me, so it’s hard for people to be sympathetic except to say they’re sorry for “my loss,” and seldom have truer words been spoken. It is (only) “my loss.”
Well, and Allie’s. But she whines about everything anyway. This just adds fuel to her dimming fire.
May 31, 2009
I think it’s because it’s digital, but my new TV (aka the thing that makes even soap operas look appealing because it has a pretty picture. Thank god I have a job) has a delay of a few seconds compared to the old TV.
Right now I’m in the dining room, which is in between the living room (land of the pretty pictures) and the kitchen (the room I want a permanent attendant for).
I don’t want to say the kitchen TV is old, but it is a Sony Watchman (made for about 2 years), which is a mini-black and white TV with a cassette player and am/fm radio. We are all about cutting edge here.
Anyway, there is a delay of a couple of seconds on the pretty TV. Now you might be thinking: maybe it’s that the kitchen TV is ahead and not the living room, but this idiosyncrasy didn’t manifest until the Pretty Picture TV came along. Before, the old TVs both yelled at you simultaneously.
So I’m hearing 60 Minutes on both devices but the living room one repeats the kitchen one a couple of seconds later, just enough time to throw me off-kilter (don’t go there). It’s like a recurrent echo that only repeats once. Or someone repeating himself.
You wouldn’t think that hearing the same things a couple of seconds apart would be such a big deal, but I think I have indavertently discovered a new medical condition: auditory vertigo.
May 24, 2009
–>5/31 update: She crapped like an 80 lb. lab and she weighs 16 lbs.
As you know, it’s “all dog all the time” around here. And boy, are puppies stupid ignorant of so many things I take for granted.
Today’s oh – dear – god – not – another - dog – story is about what Fanny did not eat. She did not eat any of the following:
1 mourning dove
1 used feminine hygiene product
1 small bar soap
1 backer rod (used behind caulking)
1/2 catalog
1 pen
No, she ate those yesterday…
Today seemed better – than – average until my friend D left here and I was cleaning up. There was a (now-empty) bowl of (what was) soy nuts on the table (which I’d already caught Fanny on twice today).
Just for grins I called D, who had not eaten the rest of them. I knew that before I called of course, but I had to check.
Did you know that 1/4 cup soy nuts provides 25% of your nutritional fiber?
I wonder how that translates for a 16.5 lb. dog? 400%? 500%? Do you think the house could blow up?
I’m leaving some windows open tonight so flammable gasses and noxious fumes don’t build up.
May 24, 2009
I love Formula One (open-wheel) racing. Now I would consider myself a casual fan, but I didn’t used to be so casual.
I’ve been to races in KC, Long Beach, Michigan, Florida (24 Hours of Daytona), not to mention all the ones I’ve watched on tv. So yeah, I love open-wheel racing. I even had my picture taken with Johnny Rutherford.
It used to be shown on regular (non-cable) TV, but since the onslaught of NASCAR Formula One has gone (presumably) to cable, which I don’t have. So I’ve gotten out of touch with it.
Just turned on the Indy 500 though, and there are not one, not two, but three, count them THREE women in the race.
And I probably don’t need to point this out but I will anyway: If you get to the big leagues (F-1) then you are not an amateur and you didn’t get there on your looks (although I love a man ’s butt in a racing suit).
You got there because you are good, you found an obnoxious number of well-heeled sponsors to back you, you have progressed from (probably) go karts to sprint cars, etc. to prove your ability and (the true test) you have qualified for whatever race(s) you are in.
So rock on, all you Indy women! You’ve made us proud.
May 19, 2009
My dog is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at herself in the mirror on the opposite wall.
Only she doesn’t know she’s looking at herself.
Fanny, formerly the “love me, please love me” dog who tries to cross the street when she sees someone who might possibly pet her, has suddenly turned tough.
Her brow is furrowed, her ears are raised, and she occasionally punctuates the self-induced tension with a gutteral growl to her reflection.
Such a little goofball…
May 12, 2009
I inadvertently and totally unintentionally insulted a colleague today (no really, I did, though I still think he took it in a way I didn’t intend – story of my life).
But more important, I was reminded that I still hadn’t posted here about my therapy session with Bob.
If you’ve been reading me for a while, you probably shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve had some therapy over the years. No really!
Personally and in my opinion, I think if you haven’t ever had some therapy you probably really need it and someone’s too scared to tell you.
Overall, it’s been a great investment. Like everyone’s investments it’s depreciated a bit lately, but overall it’s been enlightening.
So imagine my amazement when I found out I could have a free session in Chicago with my all-time favorite one-time psychologist, Dr. Bob.
It’s weird, because I’ve known him almost forever but we’ve never met. I’ve loved and have respected him for years.
I could never have imagined I’d get to see him, lay/lie on his couch and have a session. It’s kind of like getting to have a session with Dr. Freud if I’d lived in the 19th century and spoke German better.
So the last time I was in Chicago, my friend S. and I fought our way through the Windy City winds to get to his plein-air office. It was a brief session, and even though S. got just one usable photo of me I’m pleased the moment was captured.
(She also inadvertantly also videoed the session with my cell phone, but would you put your therapy session on your blog?! I don’t think so…)
But I am willing to post the photo, because it was a dream come true I want to share:
I don’t know how my friend S. feels about this, though, so I’m using my extensive Picasa skills to anonymize her:
It’s nice when a dream comes true.
May 11, 2009
<The flash reflected off her face strangely here and I’m a “picasa easy fixes only” kind of person, not a perfessional. Her face is really almost all caramel brown and doesn’t look like a mask, as it does here. See next photo or wait for the next blog entry with 4 dozen more.>
I’ve always wondered what Girl might have been like as a puppy, and with Fanny I thought I might find out. And I have.
Now if you have kids I’ve probably listened to you talk about everything from their poopy color and consistency to little Muffin being so advanced for his/her age, so please indulge me while I discuss what I’ve learned in the past couple of weeks.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a one-time deal and now my back and my leg have been her latest, uh, conquests. She is fixed so I really don’t have a clue what’s going on here. I swear I know more about raising children than I do this little puppy, and I confess I called her ‘Little Satan’ yesterday.
It’s quite vexing actually.
May 4, 2009
Silly silly Fanny – she’s still trying to get Li’l Effer (more here) to play with her, even going into the “hey let’s play” position (aka ‘downward-facing dog’ pose) and play-barking at him.
To his credit (or is he just in shock?) he’s not running or hissing or swatting her, though. He’s just looking at her and staring.
If he had a brain he’d be thinking, “Are you nuts? Do you know who I am, what I represent? I am the have scared large dogs and children before you.”
But he’s just staring at her while she keeps trying. Me? I am just sitting here in disbelief that she still has energy after 3 walks, running and playing separately and together with the neighbor girl, me, at least 4 toys, and another dog in the back yard today.
I also can’t believe that after 10 days she’s still trying to get him or Allie to play with her. She just doesn’t get the whole hissing thing and that it means ‘No, I am menacing – go away.’
Poor naive little Fanny has so much to learn on the way to growing up.
