Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Goodbye

“A child needs a grandparent…to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world.” Charles and Ann Morse

I’ve been searching for a way to talk about this topic for months now, and I’ve yet to find the words to express the emotions that it brings out in me. I have always had a great love for my family, but I’ve always felt it difficult to express very strong feelings, I’m much better at keep everything all bottled up inside. Of course at some point, the high pressure will generally lead to an explosion, and at that point all hell breaks loose. In that same way, I’m not very good at telling the people in my life how important they are to me. This past summer two of my grandparents passed away after declining for years, and I don’t feel as though I’ve ever really accepted that they are gone. I let myself cry very hard for their loss once, each time immediately after I’d heard of their passing, but other than that I worked very hard to keep it all tucked inside.

It’s strange, since moving away from home, the separation from family has made it easy enough to feel on some level as though nothing has changed. As long as I don’t think too hard about it, it feels as though Mema and Pepere are still around doing their thing, just miles and miles away. I didn’t see them or talk to them very much in these past few years which is something that I regret very much now, but that also makes it quite easy to not accept that they’re gone. I know that Mema’s house was sold and renovated, and that I’ll never go back to play Cinderella on the back porch, or school in our bedroom, but somehow that still hasn’t sunk into my head.

Pepere and Memere left Florida over a year ago, but still I keep thinking that at some point I’ll be swimming in their pool or watching TV out on the lanai someday again. Even though I’ve been to Memere’s new apartment, slept there, eaten there… it still isn’t Memere and Pepere’s house. Because I didn’t have that day to day contact with them, it’s as though my memories of what I grew up knowing have become my reality.

With Mema, at least I had the experience of her funeral, and seeing her in hospice to help me accept what was happening, but even so, I never really let myself say goodbye because I think in a lot of ways I had said my goodbye years ago when the grandmother I always knew began slipping away. I stopped letting myself really register that anything was changing to a certain degree and I think that’s why I’m still find myself thinking that when I go home for Christmas this year we’ll still head over to Mema’s house after we open all of our presents and have our second Christmas there. It’s completely unfathomable to me that she won’t be there sitting at her place on the couch when we have birthday parties. It was quite obvious to me that my Mema was dying, but not enough has changed to believe it fully.

I hadn’t seen Pepere for almost 2 years before he died, and I’d never seen him lying in a hospital bed, so the fact that he is gone is even more surreal. I think I’m not completely alone in that—I received a note from Memere recently saying that whenever anyone comes over to visit, no one wants to sit in his chair, because to all of us that will always be Pepere’s chair. I didn’t go to his funeral, so I never had any chance to see for myself that this was real and not some bizarre dream. When I went up a few weeks after the funeral everything seemed so unchanged. Pepere was such a quiet man that you could really still think that he was there, maybe just in the bedroom getting dressed or in the kitchen making his famous piña coladas.

It’s not when I think of them dying that I get teary, that doesn’t even seem like reality. It’s when I think of everything that has changed—when I realize that we won’t be going to Mema’s for Christmas, when I realize that we won’t be swimming in the pool over Thanksgiving, that we can no longer find secret passageways in the bushes in Mema’s backyard, that we won’t be learning how to play Cribbage with Pepere… those are the times when I mourn.

It was time for them to go, their bodies had lived long lives and they were tired and sick, they were shells of themselves. It’s the experiences that I wasn’t and am still not ready to let go of. That I still can’t bring myself to say goodbye to. I’m not sure if they’ll ever seem more distant, but I do know that I cherish my one surviving grandmother more than I ever knew. I’ve learned that as hard as it may be to accept my family will not always be here. That I’ll not always be here. That I should love and treasure them and fully experience every memory that we create together. Because after we’re all gone, that’s what is left. It’s the memories, the games, the places and the things that we loved that live on.

I’ll never have Christmas with Mema again, but her memory will live on in every Christmas I celebrate for as long as I live. I’ll never play Cribbage with Pepere again, or listen to his Big Band music with him, but every time I listen to Glenn Miller or count to 21 he’ll be there in that moment. I didn’t say it enough when they were alive, but I say it every time I think back on those days, "I love you and I can’t wait to see you again at the end of my road."

“The history of our grandparents is remembered not with rose petals but in the laughter and tears of their children and their children's children.  It is into us that the lives of grandparents have gone.  It is in us that their history becomes a future.”  ~Charles and Ann Morse

Mother May I

Okay, I feel safe saying this right now since Colby is away and doesn’t have access to a computer for awhile, but a strange thing started happening to me recently. I can’t really explain it, and honestly it scares the pants off of me. I’m surrounded by pregnancy at work, my coworker’s wife, half of the girls on our admin staff, one of the chiefs who just retired, an old commander of mine, and so on and so forth… It’s like it’s in the water, so maybe that has something to do with it, but I have been having the most insane maternal urges for the past couple of months.

Up until just a few months ago, I was violently opposed to the idea of having children before I was in my very late 20s or early 30s, I was constantly irritated by kids at the movies, in stores, anywhere that there were children present concurrently with myself. I grew up babysitting at least once or twice a week, and absolutely loved kids, but I figured I’d just hit burnout. Then my older sister had two beautiful children, who I love to pieces, but being a mother just seemed so HARD, and I wanted nothing to do with that. I loved that I could play with them and spoil them and then send them packing once they started acting up.

But truly, over the past couple of months anytime someone brings up a baby or child I just get all melty inside, and when I went to buy some baby clothes for a friend I nearly cried in the middle of Target holding these little wee socks. And having Jack in my life, as many pennies as that little guy has cost me, (the only mention of him, I promise!) has filled up this emptiness that I didn’t even realize I had inside me, so I can only imagine how incredible having a child would be.

Perhaps it’s just a side effect of growing up and entering “the real world” if you will, and maintaining a happy relationship with a man who I can actually envision as a father rather than just the current boyfriend (now watch, I’ve jinxed everything). Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve done so many of “the things I want to do before I have kids”—travel, live on my own, save money, settle down, etc.

Obviously I’m not planning on running out tomorrow and getting knocked up. I still have a life of my own that I want to lead before introducing children into my crazy world, but really the concept doesn’t horrify me as much as it did once, and that makes me incredibly happy. I felt so coldhearted having such an aversion to children when I’d once loved them so much, so I feel much more like myself now. Now, I’ll be preaching a different story when that little twit behind me in the movie theater keeps kicking my chair, but I’ll probably be a lot less likely to turn around and hiss at him with daggers shooting from my eyes.

So, anyway, don’t start panicking and calling the closest asylum to have me checked in. For my entire life I’ve worked this way. One second I’m completely obsessed with an idea and the next I’ve forgotten about it entirely. More than likely by next month I’ll be completely turned off by the thought of children again… not that the thought of children actually turns me on right now, because that’s actually quite perverse and punishable by incarceration, but you know, anyway. Probably next month I’ll be possessed by the urge to buy a chicken or something.& Besides, I’ve not even gotten the man in my life convinced that marriage sounds like a good idea, I think if I started talking kids he might go into hiding in the wilds of Washington state.

Doctor Google

Well, the visit to Dr. Hackemoff (as it was put so genteely) has been postponed once again. I have also found that in this day and age of Google those 7 years of schooling to become a doctor are just completely unnecessary. I went online after I saw the worms and typed this technical information into the search engine “small flat white worms + dog” and found more pictures than I could ever hope for of nasty tapeworm segments. So, I then called the vet and got the secretary and told her that his kennel cough had come back in full force and that I was pretty sure he had tapeworm, and she’s all “okay, well just stop by and we’ll give him some medicine for it.”

Huh? That’s it? You don’t even want to see him?

So I go in after work and pick up his medicines and when I got home I was looking at them and I didn’t recognize the name of the antibiotic from the sites I had been reading so I called the vet back to reschedule his neutering and book him for the kennel for the 3 weeks that I’ll be out of town and I asked what the antibiotic was for because “I looked it up and all I could find was that it could be used to treat urinary tract infections or pneumonia, but you know, maybe I’m wrong? Help?” (oftentimes I’ve found that playing dumb and asking questions I already know the answers to gets people to help me out a lot better than saying “hey doctor I told you my dog had tapeworm and you gave me a UTI medication, have you been doing coke with Kate Moss?”) All that I had read about tapeworm said that it could be treated with a medication, but more quickly with two injections spaced 3 weeks apart. I had been hoping for the injection, but figured they’d just given it to me in pill form. So, she tells me “oh, honey, that won’t treat the tapeworm, that’s for his cough”

Again, huh? I did call yesterday about the tapeworm, right?

Oh, yes, he’ll need an injection for that, bring him by anytime!

(In my head: Sort of like when I took him in yesterday to pick up the medicine?)

In real life: Okay, we’ll be in after I get off work either today or tomorrow… thanks…

So, yeah. Just call me Dr. Angela, veterinarian to the stars… or my dog… or you know, whatever.

Anyway, moral of the story: Kids, if you ever want to get your hands on some drugs, just invent a pet and call with all kinds of afflictions that you’ve self-diagnosed through the magic of Google. Works like a charm!

Also, I’ve reached the depressing conclusion that this is become very frighteningly like a mommy blog, and I don’t even have a kid… I promise, the next few entries will have nothing to do with Jack. Or at least very little mention of him. I realize that this is really only interesting to me, and if you are still reading it’s probably only out of some kind of twisted loyalty. It’s too bad I don’t drink heavily and party all the time; this could be a much more interesting place.

One Sick Puppy

Wow, thanks to everyone for the tornado suggestions—both serious and facetious! Although I must say, my particular favorite was the one involving cookies, cottage cheese, and John Corbett… Also, very excited to note that The Devil Wears Prada is being made into a movie! I love it when favorite books come to the silver screen and I can see how horribly wrong they manage to convey the characters from the book, ah well, apparently it has Anne Hathaway in it and she’s pretty cute so we’ll see.

Poor puppy Jack has gotten quite sick again, his cough was nearly gone, but it’s back in full force now and last night he had to sleep in the kitchen because his breathing was so sniffly I couldn’t get to sleep. He’s also got these hideous white wormy things that make me want to throw up everytime we take a potty walk. (Eating breakfast were ya? Want more details? No? Okay! I won’t tell you about how they’re all squirmy and tiny and flat and I have to use a stick to wipe them off the hair on his bum before we go back inside… mm mm good, kind of makes me want to throw up just thinking about it…) Called the vet last night, waiting to hear back from them, but I’ll probably call again after lunch if they still haven’t called back. I’m supposed to bring him in tomorrow to get his manhood whacked, but I’m not sure the doctor will want to proceed if pup is still under the weather.

Oh, and nothing like flipping the channel and being faced with Jackie: the 627 pound woman, to make you want to go burn all those delicious lemon sugar cookies you just baked on a whim.

Is It Very Wrong of Me?

I reached the conclusion many years ago that I’m probably a little more self-absorbed and insensitive than I should probably admit in a public forum. My parents did their best to remind me that no, the earth does not revolve around the Angela axis, but even so, every now and again I’ll have a flash of realization that “damn, I can be a really selfish bitch sometimes.”

Like, I’m really thrilled that Rita got downgraded to a tropical storm, because yes that means that fewer people will have their lives devastated, but also, I really, really didn’t want to go into work this weekend.

Tonight I’m slouched on the couch snarfing down peanut butter cookies and watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding in a lovely semi-comatose state. Suddenly the emergency alert system started beeping at me and the local news cut in with a tornado warning notification and I became inexplicably irritated because HELLO that red spot they’re talking about is on the other side of the freaking state and I’M TRYING TO WATCH A MOVIE THAT I’VE SEEN FOUR HUNDRED TIMES. It took me a minute to realize, that maybe someone over there in the little red zone might be watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding also, and so busy drooling over John Corbett (but also wondering what the deal is with the long shaggy haircut, ick) that they wouldn’t realize they could end up in Oz pretty soon if it weren’t for the cheesy newscaster guy.

So, maybe it’s okay that I’m a selfish bitch because at least I acknowledge the fact and am somewhat penitent after the fact? Except for the not going into work thing—still very thrilled about that.

P.S. Also, I very much want more peanut butter cookies.

P.P.S. Oh, and what the heck or you supposed to do in a tornado? Hide in your bathtub? Stand under a door frame? Slather yourself in cottage cheese? What? What do I do?!

Of Mattresses and Idiot Construction Workers

So, I’m driving down the interstate today, minding my own business, politely staying in my lane and refraining from screaming at all of the OTHER idiot drivers on the road when I see an 18 wheeler barreling on ahead of me. Said 18 wheeler had the company it worked for emblazoned on the back—as most usually do. Well, said 18 wheeler had in very large letters “Golden Mattress, Co.”

Okay, I realize that I have a warped sense of humor and that many people don’t necessarily drive down the same road in their minds that I often go down, but does anyone else find that as bizarre as me? I mean, I’ve heard a lot of nouns modified by the adjective “golden” and while some of them do incur visions of large sparkly yellow bricks, for some reason when I hear “Golden Mattress” I tend more toward the different usage of the term “golden”… I think of seedy hotels, squalid nursing homes, and the destinies of many 7 year old’s beds… and I wonder, who decided that “Golden Mattress” was the way to go, and what their pitch was…

Well, as I’m thinking these things I’m not noticing the little truck about 5 cars ahead of me with it’s little construction worker lights blinking along the top cheerily. Out of nowhere Blinky slams on his brakes to fix that spot--that one right there--that apparently he didn’t find necessary to begin slowing down for more than 5 feet from his stopping point. Luckily at this point I had stopped pondering the name “Golden Mattress” and began focusing more closely at the task at hand—the one of slamming on my brakes as hard as possible and watching that silver Pontiac behind me get closer and closer. Now, I’m a lot of things, but a patient and virtuous driver is not one, no, my following distance behind idiots who go 45 on the interstate is not your recommended 3-4 seconds, but more like “get your ass over in the right lane you self righteous left lane vigilante asshole” seconds. For some reason though, in my contemplative state I had managed to drift back from the car in front of me to an acceptable distance and everyone was able to stop in time and glare in concert at the idiot construction worker who was hopping blithely out of his cab and gazing at us beatifically as he raked his asphalt, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that he nearly cause a 6 car pile-up. Growl.

Anyway, I’m sure I was onto something really great with the whole “Golden Mattress” mystery, but sadly in all of the excitement my hypotheses were all lost forever. What a truly sad day.

(Note: I have mentioned neither the Kate Moss situation nor Rita here, but be certain I care deeply about both—well, Rita anyway. It looks as though we’ll be working this weekend on base, we’re still receiving international aid from Katrina and we’re expecting a possible similar response to Rita if things continue as they have been. I just couldn’t bring myself to write an entire entry about hurricanes, but anyone in the affected areas know that you’re in my thoughts and that we’re all doing everything we can to help you. Take care. Also, Kate Moss, cocaine, can I just say DUH, are you kidding me?)

I Have Absolutely Nothing to Talk About

I really don’t have anything to talk about right now because I currently have no life of my own outside of the fall television line up. There are so many shows on right now that I just love! It’s getting to the point where I actually turned down a dinner invitation because I didn’t want to miss the Lost premiere… this is not a good thing. But too many times I have tried to tape a show and ended up with General Hospital or Family Guy—both fine shows in and of themselves (kinda) but NOT the season premiere of The OC or Oprah with Jennifer Aniston. I’m still not sure what happened to Trey or why everyone is convinced that Marissa is a cold-blooded killer…

But anyway, Tivo, I adore you, but I cannot afford you. Also hating the fact that I am a one-tv-household. For example, tonight? We have The OC, Reunion, and The Apprentice, add on to that Alias starting next week, and I have a serious dilemma. You have to understand. Decisions are not my forte. I’m not happy that all of these shows are on Thursday nights and yet there is NOTHING on Monday that I have any interest in.

Hard to get any sympathy when that’s my biggest problem, but still, annoying!

Colby is supposed to be back in from the field tonight after 5 days in the great outdoors, so hopefully I’ll get to talk to him tonight—as long as he promises to stay quiet during my shows and talk only during commercials.

Am I not the lamest person in the world, or what? Oh, and I almost forgot to ask--what in the heck was Creepy Walt saying to Shannon? It sounded like Parseltongue to me, but I'm pretty sure that's the wrong show...

Are *You* Stuck on Stupid?

New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin held a press conference recently, and began losing control of the reporters who were more interested in discussing the previous downfalls of the emergency response of the administration. Lt. Gen. Russel Honore took the reins and started kickin' butt and taking names! It's so refreshing to finally see someone who is more interested in taking care of his mission than approval ratings and politics.

You can check out radioblogger.com for the audio of it… definitely worth a listen.

Honore: And Mr. Mayor, let's go back, because I can see right now, we're setting this up as he said, he said, we said. All right? We are not going to go, by order of the mayor and the governor, and open the convention center for people to come in. There are buses there. Is that clear to you? Buses parked. There are 4,000 troops there. People come, they get on a bus, they get on a truck, they move on. Is that clear? Is that clear to the public?

Female reporter: Where do they move on...

Honore: That's not your business.

Male reporter: But General, that didn't work the first time...

Honore: Wait a minute. It didn't work the first time. This ain't the first time. Okay? If...we don't control Rita, you understand? So there are a lot of pieces of it that's going to be worked out. You got good public servants working through it. Let's get a little trust here, because you're starting to act like this is your problem. You are carrying the message, okay? What we're going to do is have the buses staged. The initial place is at the convention center. We're not going to announce other places at this time, until we get a plan set, and we'll let people know where those locations are, through the government, and through public announcements. Right now, to handle the number of people that want to leave, we've got the capacity. You will come to the convention center. There are soldiers there from the 82nd Airborne, and from the Louisiana National Guard. People will be told to get on the bus, and we will take care of them. And where they go will be dependent on the capacity in this state. We've got our communications up. And we'll tell them where to go. And when they get there, they'll be able to get a chance, an opportunity to get registered, and so they can let their families know where they are. But don't start panic here. Okay? We've got a location. It is in the front of the convention center, and that's where we will use to migrate people from it, into the system.

Male reporter: General Honore, we were told that Berman Stadium on the west bank would be another staging area...

Honore: Not to my knowledge. Again, the current place, I just told you one time, is the convention center. Once we complete the plan with the mayor, and is approved by the governor, then we'll start that in the next 12-24 hours. And we understand that there's a problem in getting communications out. That's where we need your help. But let's not confuse the questions with the answers. Buses at the convention center will move our citizens, for whom we have sworn that we will support and defend...and we'll move them on. Let's not get stuck on the last storm. You're asking last storm questions for people who are concerned about the future storm. Don't get stuck on stupid, reporters. We are moving forward. And don't confuse the people please. You are part of the public message. So help us get the message straight. And if you don't understand, maybe you'll confuse it to the people. That's why we like follow-up questions. But right now, it's the convention center, and move on.

Male reporter: General, a little bit more about why that's happening this time, though, and did not have that last time...

Honore: You are stuck on stupid. I'm not going to answer that question. We are going to deal with Rita. This is public information that people are depending on the government to put out. This is the way we've got to do it. So please. I apologize to you, but let's talk about the future. Rita is happening. And right now, we need to get good, clean information out to the people that they can use. And we can have a conversation on the side about the past, in a couple of months.

I Require Constant Adult Supervision

Okay folks, honestly, oftentimes I wonder how it is that I’ve gotten this far in life without killing myself, or at least incurring a serious injury. I stand by the old saying that God protects fools and children—luckily I made that enviable transition from child to fool with no problems and am still in one piece as a result.

Seriously. Last night I put my toner on a cotton ball and proceeded to remove my eye makeup with it. Yes, your read that right—I basically poured toner in my eye. Y’all, the bottles don’t even LOOK or FUNCTION in the same way.

The toner is orange and one must squeeze the bottle to get product onto the little cotton ball. To use the eye makeup remover, a lovely serene blue, one must only remove the cap and product will flow freely from bottle simply by pouring it on the cotton ball.

So, anyway, the screaming pain in my right eye alerted me to the fact that I was indeed using the incorrect bottle and then I cried. It was quite sad. And painful.

Then, I brought Jack out for his nightly potty run before bed time. Since it’s pretty dark when we go out I bring a flashlight. We’re crossing the pavement to “Shit Hill” (mom, I didn’t name it so you can’t be mad at me) and Jack’s ears flatten and he just stands stock still. So, I’m trying to see what he sees and not flip out when I see this dark, skulking creature over by the trees. I came seriously close to crying again then did that thing that you always yell at people in horror movies for doing and I moved closer to investigate. As I got closer the thing got bigger, but when I would try to flash the light on it, I couldn’t see what it was. Because? Can you guess? Yeah, it was our shadows. I’m a complete idiot.

And my favorite thing to do! Went to the dentist this morning for my annual visit. Because the Air Force has decided that 3 out of 4 dentists are wrong and a dental visit every six months is just silly and not cost effective (although $500 toilet seats are) and we don't actually need airmen with teeth, no they'll just bite their supervisors and that's a bad thing. So, while I was there I decided to talk to the precious young doctor about my jaw issues. And isn’t this cute? He actually told me to take motrin and call him if it didn’t get better! I mean, I thought that was just one of those things that you say when you’re making fun of doctors—you know “take 2 tylenol and call me in the morning”. No! Apparently, you can go to school for 5,000 years and still not come up with anything better than “take a motrin”! I tried not to roll my eyes too hard since he was quite young and small and I didn’t want to scare him if my eyes were to pop out of my head. So apparently your jawbone ball actually popping out of the socket is fixable by motrin, a lack of chewing gum and not eating “sandwiches that are hard to eat”. Yep, ladies and gentlemen, that’s your tax dollars at work. Of course our conversation went something like this:

Dentist: Does it hurt when I do this?

Me: Bwarh fweg mehg leh

Dentist: Ah, I see, and what about when you open and close your mouth?

Me: Mehsz eljges jeabesl pehgl

Dentist: Okay, well, that popping sound is really nothing to worry about, as long as the pain isn’t severe.

Me: Oh.

So, you know, maybe he just didn’t really understand everything I was saying since ALL TEN OF HIS FINGERS WERE DOWN MY THROAT. But hey, whatever, I’ll live. I don’t actually deserve a painfree existence anyway; I’m not a good person. Perhaps this will be like penance or something. I shall become more Christ-like in my pain and suffering. Or perhaps I shall just grow more pissed off over time and call back and try to get in with a different doctor. Either way only good can come of this!

You know, if my mom had been there, she would have given him what for! And she probably wouldn’t have let me pour toner in my eyeball.

Reasons I Should Have Watched Pearl Harbor Tonight

As though watching moderately famous celebrity types lose their lives’ dreams for 4 hours isn’t awkward enough, now we also must watch them attempt to sing theme songs from old sitcoms while Ellen wheels around a unicycle and waves a sparkler. Don’t get me wrong, I love Kristen Bell and my ears didn’t bleed when she sang the Fame song, but I’m sorry, no one should have to listen to William Shatner talk through the Star Trek song while some other lady stands there squawking. (Have I mentioned yet that William Shatner has a commercial on here for some local attorney? He’s sunk to ambulance chaser levels people—that’s not a good thing) And this is why other networks feel the need to show nothing but reruns or bad movies. I hate award show nights.

 That being said, Conan O’Brien is a comedic genius.

I keep tearing up over old clips of Johnny Carson and Peter Jennings and I never even actually watched them… I mean, I’m aware of their presence in the world, but it’s not as though I identified closely with them or anything… Oh God and now Tom Brokaw and Dan Rather are on together talking about Peter’s absence… here I go again, must find Kleenex immediately…

Also, it appears as though the beautiful Sayid from Lost actually is dating Barbara Hershey (the one who died in Beaches). Sighs of disappointment were heard round the world while women re-locked their chastity belts… or at least in my living room.

Some lady I’ve never heard of actually didn’t lose her life’s dream but then proceeded to spend her entire time up on stage digging around in her boobs for her thank you speech. Ew.

Quentin Tarantino.

I have to realize just how much crap tv I actually watch… including what I am currently glued to mourning the fact that there are no new episodes of The Girls Next Door on tonight.

Hmmm, apparently Charlize Theron is going to be ugly in a movie again… Do you think maybe that’s how she actually looks and they just airbrush the crap out of her in magazines and send out a body double for awards shows and other movies where she looks insanely gorgeous? Because that’s the only way it’s even remotely fair that she can go from Monster to red carpet Charlize.

Oh good, Megan Mullally and Donald Trump won the Emmy Idol competition and will now win… well, apparently nothing but technical difficulties—or just people screwing up left and right, whatever. Phew, and here I thought I was just wasting my time for the past 3 hours! Oh wait, I have been.

Oh yeah! Lost won some Emmy action!! Maybe I’ve not been watching entirely crap tv! Okay, that’s not a reason to have watched Pearl Harbor, but I’m excited dammit, I never actually watch the shows that win these things. Sawyer… drool…

Holy crap—it ended on time! Now I shall waste further amounts of time watching the post show on E! Because really? Who needs sleep on Emmy night when you can watch celebrities make fools of themselves on live television! (On that note, if Jesse Metcalfe says that he's not available "right now" one more time, I'd like to watch his date pummel him publicly for many hours--what an ass)

Goodnight Mrs Calabash, wherever you are!

This Is Your Brain… This Is Your Brain On Long Distance Relationships

I spend most weekends happily at home with a blanket on the couch catching up on all the crap tv I missed during the week while I was at work or trying not to fall asleep during my shows at night. I’ve never really felt alone though, I can always pick up the phone and give Colby a call and then we’re “together” in the only way that we can be right now. This weekend is different. His survival class is out in the field for the next 6 days learning how to eat bugs and stew bunnies and such, so I won’t be talking to him until Thursday night or Friday morning. I guess that doesn’t sound so horrible, but truly, when you’re in a relationship where talking is all that you really have, it’s like an arm has been cut off.

Lately I’ve felt very far away from him anyway—the situation we’re in right now is a sort of a preview of things to come. We’re on opposite ends of the country, and while it’s not really so different from before in that it doesn’t necessarily matter if he’s 500 miles or 2500 miles away in regards to visits, it’s that damn time zone change that’s really thrown me. When we’ve lived in different time zones before this it was east and central, so there was only an hour difference. It’s so strange how just one more hour added to that makes such a big difference to me. I just feel a little further away from him than I did before.

In 5 weeks I’ll be heading to Washington with him to house-hunt for 3 weeks, and that’ll be great fun, but also a little bittersweet since we’ll be looking for a place for him to live without me and on the opposite end of the country. Usually I’m fine with that, really, I’m willing to wait for him to be ready. I’ve heard too many horror stories about people who committed before they were ready and ending in spontaneous combustion. There are just some times like today when I’m feeling distant from him that I sort of question where it is that we’re going. I’m just so ready to see that light at the end of the tunnel, I’ve been patient for almost 3 years now, how much longer does a girl have to wait!

I’ll be out of the dark pretty soon here, usually these periods only last a day or so. It’s a beautiful day outside, sunny and cool, so I think I’ll take Jack out for a long walk and take my mind off of what I don’t have right now and try to put the focus on what I do have.

And in news of the somewhat amazing, results of our base-wide Katrina fundraiser should be in on Monday, but my preliminary count from yesterday was up around $24,000, so I’m just so thrilled to be a part of that and to hold some of the responsibility for heading it up. There are so many others though that have done so much and who are still wanting to do more. There is talk of putting teams together to go camp out at Keesler AFB to start putting the base back together. I’m so proud to know these people and to work with them and support them. We’ve all done a lot, but there’s so much left that we can do.

Finally, to end on a note of the absurd, when I woke up yesterday morning I blindly reached over to turn off my alarm and turn on the light and my arm rubbed against something cold and metallic. When I could see, I saw a can of Raid sitting on my nightstand… I have no idea how it got there or when I had put it there, but apparently I was feeling like fighting off some spiders in the middle of the night! Sad to say, stranger things have happened…

Things That Make You Go Hmm...

I don’t know, I’m having a hard time coming up with titles that don’t reference a song or movie. Titles have always been the hardest thing to come up with in my writing… I have many short stories all with some of the lamest titles known to man. My favorite title was “Working Title” (which I thought was somewhat creative based on the content which I won’t go into right now because oh how mortifying to actually discuss something I’ve written) but my writing teacher at the time told me I might have trouble getting it published with that title because they might thing that it was actually a still in its working title stages rather than it’s official name. I think I had stopped listening at that point because I was still marveling at the idea that he thought I would ever even try for publication!

Anyway. Onto the pointless rambling that comprises my site funny.

Today was Funny Friday on the radio show I listen to on the way to work. The comedian that was on hailed from Manchester, England and had me in stitches all morning.

DJ 1: (recently found she’s pregnant and has bought a number of baby magazines, to her surprise one is a UK edition and uses a great deal of terminology that most Arkansans aren’t exactly familiar with) So, they used words like nappy and pram… blah blah (you get the general idea here)

DJ 2: So, funny comic hailing from Manchester, England what other words do you use that are different from ours?

Funny Comic Hailing from Manchester, England: (henceforth known as FCHFME… that’s catchy) Well…

DJ 2: Like, breast-feeding, do you have another word for breast feeding?

FCHFME: Yeah… fun.

Oh my God. I died. And almost caused a 10 car pile-up. But it would have been so incredibly worth it!

Jack Anecdote of the Day: Because I just can’t go a day without one! Tonight while I was cooking dinner he had a toy in the middle of the floor and I had to keep kicking it out of the way. When I went to the stove to check on my quesadilla I heard him behind me picking up the toy, so I figured he was going to play with it. Instead he carried it out to the hall and put it against the wall, then came back and curled up by my feet. He was just moving it out of the way for me! So cute…

And finally, tonight when I went out to get the mail, there was a brilliant cool breeze blowing and I SMELLED FALL!! I always get excited when I can smell the seasons changing, and I get particularly excited when fall is coming since the next 3 months are my most favoritest of the whole year! Hooray! Commencing count-down to presents!

Days of (no) Wine and (much) Poop

Thank God this week is almost over, and it appears that I’m finally back on a normal schedule at work. Normal is perhaps not the right word, but at least I won’t be coming in at five one morning, noon to nine the next day, working 12 hour shifts over the weekend and so on. In other news, I think after this last week, having a human baby some day is going to be a piece of cake. Because seriously? The furry baby? I love him to pieces and would do anything for him—but I truly believe that he is the spawn of Satan. Or at least Satan’s cousin.

Because of this light of my life, I’m probably going to be homeless in the next few weeks. I got a call from the front office while I was at work on Tuesday saying that they had “received numerous complaints” about my dog barking ALL FREAKING DAY while I’m at work, and that basically I need to get it under control or else. Yeah, because it’s super easy to convince a dog who lived in an abusive home, then on the streets, and then in a shelter for the first 6 months of his life that, “It’s okay sweetie, mom is just going to be gone for a little while and you just stay here and eat your Science Diet quietly like a good boy”. To which he responds “POOOOOOOP. Oh and also PEEEEEEE” all over the damn kitchen. Which is where the much poop reference comes in.

I don’t even know where it came from. He still hardly eats anything unless I’m hovering over him and shoving his face in his bowl. He drinks water like it’s going out of style, so I can understand the whole pee thing, but y’all. The amount of crap on the floor was simply astounding… and the icing on the cake was that he had then proceeded to tramp through it and dance around on the carpet, on and then poop some more there, because why not?

Then I get home and our conversation goes something like this:

Me: (Walks in door, smells stench and cries, enters kitchen, cries harder)JACK!!!!

Jack: (Tongue lolling, sitting preciously and kind of falling down because damn this floor is slippery) Hi Mom! Look, Cute! Look, I pooped! Oh, and peed too! Cute!

Me: JAAAAACK!!!!

Jack: Hmm…

Me: Where in Christ’s name did all that poop—oh God, stop walking in it—DON’T EAT IT!!!

Jack: Not going as well as I’d hoped… Puppy dog eyes! Cute! Lick, lick, lick!

Me: Don’t lick me with your poop coated tongue you spawn of… oh, puppy dog eyes… awww, so cute… but POOOOOP EVERYWHERE!!!

I then proceeded to spend 45 minutes on my hands and knees in whatever oasis of clean floor I could find with the paper towels, pet cleaner, and Swiffer Wet Jet cleaning up the encrusted kitchen floor and various overflow onto the dining room carpet. I then had to take him outside where he proceeded to do nothing, change into something somewhat cute and de-poop my odeur, frantically spray air freshener and open windows then jump in car to leave the poop-machine once again and attempt to stay awake during dinner with friends.

You know you’re reaching adult-hood when you sit around a table at a restaurant with 20 other folks and every blessed one of them is married, two of them brought babies along because they couldn’t find a sitter, another woman continuously makes caustic comments to her husband about how their dogs would not pay for them to live in an old folks home 30 years from now, and the majority of your conversation revolves around projectile vomit and scheduled feedings every 3 hours. And that you’re afraid to order a glass of wine because you might fall asleep on the way home. And that truly, you’re at your happiest sitting on the couch with a puppy curled up by your feet watching commercials and sleeping through your favorite show. That, my friends, is the life!

We Are the World

I’ve gotten quite into reading other blogs recently and it offers such amazing insight into the other people in the world around you. To think that the woman who just cut you off and flipped the bird on the interstate could be the very same woman that you read daily and laugh with and cry with. Or that the kid in the grocery store with the Birkenstocks and college sweatshirt could be the brilliant writer who inspired you to begin your site and puts your writing talent to shame every day. Then there are those writers who find their little place on the internet to be the only place worth viewing. They view other blogs with disdain and categorize them as boring “mommy blogs” or vapid “personal diaries”… but really, what sets them apart? What makes them any more superior to any other writer out there? It continues to fascinate me how you give a person a small amount of space on the internet to make their own, and suddenly they are the authority on all things holy, even if they only get 5 hits a day.

The blogging world is truly it’s own little biosphere, reminding me a little bit of highschool—there are the popular blogs that everyone wants to be included in, there are the geeky techno blogs, there are the dark batshit crazy blogs that scare me more than I can tell you, there are the middle of the road blogs who generate a fairly decent amount of traffic but just aren’t quite up with the “in” crowd, and then there are the superior self centered bloggers who nobody really likes yet they still seem to think that they are the ultimate authority on anything and everything. And while we all have our own reasons for writing—be it other people’s entertainment, a personal diary, writing reviews, etc--the thing that we all have in common is that we have all chosen to have a site, and unless someone decides to regulate the internet someday (which is not a job I would want…) then the number of bloggers will continue to grow exponentially and there’s nothing anyone can do about that.

This is not to say that there aren’t a very large number of blogs that I’ve run across that I do think are complete crap. But does that mean that I have any more right to be here writing than them? Absolutely not. Does the fact that I think they’re crap make my little place here any better? Absolutely not. The thing that I think we all need to understand, or at least what I’ve come to understand about this whole blogging culture, is that we all have the right to be here. We all have the right to put ourselves into the lives of others in whatever way we choose, and beyond that they have the right to either accept us into their worlds or move on to the next blog. Every single one of us who has taken the step from keeping the diary under lock and key to our own self-publication has an amazing amount of courage to open up to the world. It’s a world full of drama, but you just have to learn to take everything with a grain of salt.

Jack's Big Debut

Alright folks, you’ve waited with bated breath for this moment. At long last the highly anticipated puppy pics! Upon review of these pictures I’m even more convinced that the day of the digital camera is drawing near. The hard copies turned out pretty well, but somewhere between the film and whatever scanning program Wal-Mart uses, the pictures turned out pretty grainy… Well, we’ll just look at it as though I did it as a purposeful artistic gimmick. So, without further ado, drumroll please…

Puppy Pics 2005!! (And believe it or not, this is highly edited down from the total number of pictures I actually took—scary.)

Heeeeeeere’s Jackie!!! (Only please don’t call him Jackie, because that name actually gives me cold chills of fear)

Drinking—one of his favorite things to do... Lush. Oh, and you can also see one of his pink toys that I bought when I thought he was going to be a girl, and are now his *favorite* things to play with. Sigh, what a man. All he needs now is a spangly clutch and dangerously high hooker heels and he'll be ready to go.

Oh my God, isn’t that so cute it hurts?? This is Baby, his other favorite pink toy. Hang on a minute, I need a hug.

Here you can see the Baby Gates of Death… see how there are only vertical slats? And they’re about 3 feet high? Yeah, that’s what he climbed over. Please don't ask me how.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy… (Okay I’ll stop with the psycho Shining references now)

And here we have the Crate of Doom… let’s just not even discuss right now.

I’m sorry, I have no funny caption for this, but it just cracks me up. Any suggestions?

Let’s see… which toy should I get out of my basket, bring to the other side of the room, and then proceed to not play with…

Oh, yes, the bed that I shelled out big bucks for and now have to bribe him to so much as step foot in. When I took this picture? I was holding a cookie in one hand to keep him in there.

Here is the Demon Ball that is my personal favorite… it’s supposed to stimulate his mind as he rolls it around and realizes that food comes out of it. In fact, it just scares the crap out of him. Is it terrible that I find great entertainment in his neuroses?

And my other babies, lest they think they have been forgotten… Which, honestly, they kind of have a little bit. I’m a terrible mother...

Okay mom, get off the damn computer and play with me! Remember, part of the reason you got a puppy was so you would get off your fat ass and do something other than watch The Soup?

My Weekend in Vignettes

Sigh, yet another weekend almost over. Colby is on his way to get beaten in a box for three weeks and it’s back to work for me tomorrow. Fortunately, sense has finally come to those in charge and we’ve come off of 24 hour shifts. I was supposed to work this weekend, but thankfully for Jack I got a call Friday night telling me I didn’t need to come in. Huzzah!!

To celebrate this fact, we decided to go for our first real walk around the neighborhood. And locked ourselves out. Great. However, the joys of apartment living are that you can always have a parental figure in your life who will come change a lightbulb, fix your toilet when it overflows, and provide you with a spare key anytime, anyplace! I should never be a homeowner—I have a feeling that could be disastrous.

Watched The Thorn Birds this weekend—it was a bit long, but all in all I enjoyed it. Gotta tell you though, Richard Chamberlain? Just didn’t really do it for me. I mean, he’s not hideous by any means, but I certainly wouldn’t be so gaga for him that I would tempt him from his priestly ways. ~~Controversy alert! Controversy alert!~~ Watching shows like this and then hearing all of the reports of molestation committed by priests, it always strikes me how bizarre the lives are that priests must live. I can’t help but think that maybe if they were allowed the normal instincts of human nature maybe there wouldn’t be so much perversion and secrecy necessary in the bowels of Catholicism. I mean, lets face it, priests, bishops, cardinals, probably even popes have been having sex and pursuing monetary gain for centuries—why kid ourselves? Anyway, stepping off that soap box before I am either stoned by one of you or struck down by the hand of God.

Stock tip of the day: If you were planning to invest in Bounty or Pet Odor and Stain remover do so quickly. Seriously, at the rate I’ve been going through the stuff, the price should be jumping drastically in the next few days. The pup has done quite well thusfar in housebreaking, but every now and then he’ll still slip up, or on a day home alone he just can’t hold it for that long. I had to leave him out in the apartment on Friday since he can climb over the gates, and I came home to a couple of gifts and a wee bit of chewing on my coffee table. Good thing he’s got the best puppy dog eyes I’ve EVER seen! I had attempted putting him in his crate that morning, but he didn’t bark, he didn’t cry, he was SCREAMING in abject terror and was having none of it. I made it out the door before I caved and then came back inside and let him out. It’s funny because I’ve always said that when I’m a parent I’ll be incredibly strict just because I have so little patience with kids, but if this dog is any indication, I’m going to be a complete pushover. I *must* work on that! It’s probably not a good sign that he’s wagging his tail when I fuss at him about something…

Oh, and just a carryover from my last post—I’ve decided that the best course of action for the Katrina victims is that we just move them all in with Celine Dion. I’ll bet she has lots of pretty things for them to play with, and since she so generously put that thought out there, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind following through on it! I should get in touch with Michael Brown’s replacement and see what he thinks about that… I’m brilliant!

Last random thought of the day before you head out, it’s such an amazing sensation to love so much that your throat hurts. I’m so lucky to have so much in my life that brings me that feeling.

Puppy photo essay coming soon consider yourself warned or notified—your choice!

And Now For Something Completely Different

So. For the past few days we’ve been working Hurricane Katrina issues on base like crazy. People are working quite literally around the clock sending troops, food, water, relief supplies, and money, we’re downloading supplies off of international airplanes that are bringing in provisions for the affected areas. So far we’ve had Chinese, British, African, Indian, and Russian representatives fly in, and these are just the ones that I’m aware of. Folks are walking around like zombies—going without sleep, eating whatever they can find in the snack bars, and sneaking minutes here and there when they can to get some personal time. Our resources are exhausted, yet people still want to give more and more.

I’m running a base wide fundraiser for money to send to our Air Force family at Keesler AFB, we have lodging available on base, cots set up in our barracks, vacant base housing has been furnished and is ready for evacuees. On the way home from work yesterday I saw a sign up at the local community center for a job fair and kids day for Katrina victims. Local apartment complexes are opening up their vacant spaces for the evacuees, television stations and radio channels are talking about nothing but volunteer opportunities, drop off points for supplies and money, holding donation drives. I’ve received a note on my windshield offering supplies and refuge after someone saw my Louisiana plates, my neighbors have asked about family and friends back home and offered any help they can give. Tomorrow my secretary’s church is holding an impromptu wedding for a couple that had to evacuate New Orleans days before their wedding and have absolutely nothing now. The church is scrambling to find them a cake, flowers, candles, wedding gifts, and these two people will manage to overcome the odds and still get married on their wedding day because of the kindness and generosity of complete strangers.

On a daily basis, I come home from my day or night at work, turn on the news and see nothing but the people who refuse to leave New Orleans—after a MANDATORY EVACUATION ORDER mind you—bitching about how no one is helping them and they are being left to die and rot in sewage and squalor. They’re screaming at the National Guardsmen who are risking their own lives to go in and rescue them about how they are American citizens and have their rights and will not be treated this way and blahdy freakin’ blah, now I’m going to go rob a store at gunpoint and shoot contractors who are trying to FIX THE DAMN BRIDGE SO PEOPLE CAN GET THE HELL OUT. (Okay, I know that’s a broad generalization, and I realize that not all of the residents of New Orleans are rampaging murderers, please do not send me angry email because I will probably hunt you down and rip your head off, this is venting here people)

Then I’m reading my brainless entertainment news, since that’s all I can handle now, and I read this completely asinine quote from the internationally known news pundit, Celine Dion, about how people who are looting should be left along because “they just want to touch something nice for once in their life”—what on earth?? Since when does Celine Dion even live in the same reality as the rest of us that she has the insight to make a comment like that?? I swear to God, nothing makes sense to me anymore. I refuse to even watch the news now because the media has managed to zero in on every negative aspect of this admittedly appalling tragedy and magnify it, while at the same time managing to ignore the valiant efforts people and governments AROUND THE WORLD are going to to send assistance. And then, if anyone has the audacity to talk about anything other than the hurricane they are immediately cast down as cruel, heartless, and selfish for even beginning to think of themselves and not devoting every waking minute to reflection and sadness for the people along the gulf coast. All that we can do as a nation is look for who we can blame, who we can tear down, what sort of political statement we can turn this into—both Democrat and Republican—instead of seeing this for the natural disaster that it is, learning from it, and marveling at the outpouring of human kindness and compassion that it has evoked in people around the world.

Is it any wonder all that I can find to talk about lately is the sweetness and precociousness of an innocent puppy?

In Which I Bore You All to Tears by Continuously Rambling on and on About a Dog

Okay, well, the photo essay that was promised, and I think most eagerly anticipated by you all, will have to be delayed until I catch up technologically with the rest of the world. My darling boyfriend has a number of priceless photos of my precious baby, all of which exhibit his absolute loveableness and adorableness. However, he’s gotten out of dodge and taken said displays of adorableness with him AFTER REPEATED REQUESTS TO DOWNLOAD THEM ONTO MY COMPUTER.

I love you darling.

So, as I am living in the Stone Age of photography and still use “film” in my camera, I’ll just have to go take about a hundred pictures of him in various stages of cuteness, wait an hour while they are "developed", and then display His Handsomeness on the world wide web for all to see. (For those of you who do not understand the terms in quotes, you can try dictionary.com for assistance.) And maybe, just maybe, someday I’ll buy one of these “digital cameras” I hear so much about.

< Subsequently, as I have no pictures to share with you, I will now ramble on at length about him as I have absolutely nothing else to talk about since I’ve done nothing but work and sleep lately…

Anyway, apparently, among Jack’s other feats of greatness, he can also scale walls. I keep him in my kitchen with a baby gate, about 3 feet high—keep in mind, Jack only comes up to about knee height. I got home from work last night, expecting to go release him from his hellish prison, and was greeted at the door by his bright shining face and little wagging tail. Upon further inspection, both of the baby gates were still closed and locked. I decided to use my Encyclopedia Brown-like investigative skills, so I put him back in the kitchen and locked him up then hid around the corner (aren't I sneaky?) This kid is amazing—he hooked his front paws over the top of the gate and then starts to basically do a pull-up to climb over the top of the gate… I mean, dogs climb like that? Who knew? He’s got to be part monkey or something…

So I left him home alone for a full day for the first time today and my stomach is absolutely in knots. All I can think is that he’s going to try to climb over the gate and get his paw stuck, or fall over the top and break his neck, or choke on his food… or some other equally catastrophic event that is so outlandish I can’t even fathom it. Or that he’ll just poop all over my carpet, you know, whatever. I’m thinking I’m going to have to cave and just get a rope of some sort and attach it to the pantry door and then hook him up to that during the day. I just hate to do that, because there are a lot of indicators that he spent a great deal of his puppyhood chained up and has some bad associations with that.

But bless his little heart, his personality is really starting to shine through now that he's warmed up to me, he’s extremely loveable, fantastic with other people and other dogs, and he’s starting to catch on to the whole playing thing, although eating is still presenting problems. But hey, we’re making progress—now if I can just get him past the whole being terrified of fire hydrants issue we’ll be a-ok.

“She’s A HE?!” and Other Misadventures in the World of Girl and Dog

Well folks, life just never ceases to surprise. Just when you get past one curveball, another one gets thrown your way. I’d finally come to terms with the fact that I was going to be a mother, albeit to a very furry baby, when I find out that “Ellie” is in fact a “Jack”. Hooooooooly crap.

Like, as in little puppy wieners and peeing in all of the corners of my apartment? The terrible mother that I am my heart fell a little when I found out that my little adult princess was actually a wee little 6 month old boy, but then the vet brought him out and I fell in love all over again. Those same sad eyes and the trembling… just broke my heart and I felt terrible for wanting him to have been a girl. (That being said, I’ve decided that someday when I become pregnant I don’t think I want to know the gender beforehand because DAMN I’d be mad if for 9 months I thought I was going to have a little girl and then out comes this twee kid with extra bits, or vice versa… I’d much rather just be surprised!)

With the great lack of confidence I have in the organizational skills of the shelter (ie bringing out the white and tan dog, having the cards mixed up, etc) it’s not exactly shocking that they sent over the wrong puppy. That being said, I’m so incredibly happy with him. He had a bit of an identity crisis as I’d gotten “her” a little pink collar to tide “her” over until the pretty one comes in the mail, with a precious little red heart with “Ellie” engraved on it, and I think he was a bit mortified to be seen in public wearing pink, but we remedied the situation quickly with a stop by Petco for a nice manly blue bone engraved with “Jack” and a lovely red collar.

Interaction was a bit rocky at first, but now he trails me around the house, already understands that he needs to go outside to do his business, and now we just need to work on the whole “playing” and “eating” thing. Colby and I have both tried showing him his toys and how they work, but he mostly just looks at us like we’re a little nutty. He’s into the little edible chew bones, but the ropes and squeaky toys are still a bit perplexing to him. It’s so bizarre going from my family dog, Belle, who practically mauls you if you so much as mention the word “cookie” to Jack who sort of looks at it and licks it a little then drops in on the floor and comes back every now and then to lick on it some more.

He is a great deal like having a baby though, Colby and I took turns last night waking up and bringing him out to go to the bathroom, he cries about things and I have NO IDEA WHAT TO DO, he cries his head off when we leave—the only discernible difference I can find is that I don’t have drawers full of tiny clothes that he’ll wear for a week before he grows out of them. Anyway, I bring him in to have him fixed in three weeks—right now he has hookworm and a kennel cough, both of which he’s medicated for, and the vet didn’t want to do anything while he was sick. So, his manhood will be stolen away, and then I can begin dressing him in the fluffy pink tutus and sparkling, feathery tiaras—Just kidding!! Or am I….. stay tuned for future episodes and probably an obscene number of photo entries dedicated solely to the furry one of the household.

Bringing Home Baby

Okay, if this much time and effort goes into bringing a wee little doggy home, then I don’t think I’ll ever have children--ever—good God, it’s insane!

Colby and I went to Wal-Mart and Petco yesterday armed with my list of “must buys” that I’d compiled after scouring every single “Bringing Home Puppy” site on the web… and y’all, I’m not kidding you when I say that in a single day I spent HUNDREDS on this dog. And that’s not even including the big ticket items like the bed and crate that still must be tackled this evening.

I just can’t help spoiling her rotten—when I think of the life she’s had so far, all I want to do is hug her, and since I can’t do that yet, I just buy her things! Like biscuits, and toys, and nifty little food bowls, and biscuits, and most importantly the collar.

It’s ladybugs! And shamrocks! And it’s her color!

Because, you know, she has colors… pink and red… for those of you who couldn’t make it to the puppy shower but still want to send gifts...

Anyway, it’s probably a good thing I couldn’t take her home on Friday as I’d originally planned, because this has really involved a hell of a lot of logistics. Like, baby gates. I had to find the perfect baby gates to put in the kitchen. They have a door that opens—a DOOR! So I don’t have to take them down and put them back up every day—I’m THRILLED!! (I’ve become that person that talks about nothing but their children—only it’s a dog—not only a dog, a dog that I don’t actually have yet…)

And I’m terrified that she won’t like me—that I’ll put her in her crate on the way home from the vet (just like I’m supposed to), walk her on a leash outside for 20 minutes so she can get used to her surroundings (just like I’m supposed to), and bring her inside still on her leash (just like I’m supposed to—can you tell I’ve been reading waaaay too much?)—and she’ll turn tail and bolt, because good God, this woman is insane, who owns that much Gone With the Wind crap?? Are those RATS up on that shelf?? You have got to be kidding me, there’s no DOGGY DOOR?? And obviously, running the streets with your bitches (see, haha, funny, it’s a dog joke!) is far better than living in a home filled with miniature Scarlett’s staring creepily at you from every angle, two rodents who have outlived their lifespan, and NO DOGGY DOOR—GOOD GOD WHAT WAS I THINKING???

But her collar is cute.

So Long, and Thanks For All the Peace...

So… I took the plunge today. I’ve been agonizing and thinking and analyzing it from every angle for over a year, and today I’ve finally made a commitment to another living being to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part. I never thought this day would come, and I’m excited, and nervous, and scared, but mostly just so, so in love.

Yes, that’s right.

I got a dog.

You: OH MY FREAKING GOD—WHAT????????????

Yeah, that’s right, I went down to the shelter today and met the love of my life. I know I’d said I’d wait until after the holidays, but I’ve been watching the shelter website photos for a couple of months now, and I saw this little girl who was eligible for euthanization on Friday September 2nd, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’s a border collie mix and was found wandering around a nice neighborhood with a couple of other collie mixes and a spaniel mix.  She looks like she’s maybe a year or two old, so she’s out of the puppy stage, but she’s still got a precious puppy face.

When the shelter man brought her out the first dog, it was definitely the wrong one--beige and white, still cute, but definitely not the face I'd memorized.  When she finally came out she was terrified and shaking, and didn’t make a peep. She just kept her head down and he dragged her behind him, yelling at her every now and then to come on. I just about jumped out of my skin and had to really restrain myself from knocking his asshat head off. Instead I just crouched down, so that I was still over her, and started petting her and talking to her very softly.

After a while she looked up at me with these sad, soulful eyes and just shot me through the heart "Saaaaaaaaave me, taaaaaaake me"—that’s what she said, I swear it. So, I signed on the dotted line and I pick her up from the vet on Tuesday afternoon—goodbye peace and quiet, goodbye clean excrement-free flooring, goodbye freedom…. Honestly, I feel like I’m having a baby or something. Now I just have to decide on a name… is it ridiculous that that’s what stresses me out the most about this whole situation??

Hurricane Katrina Strikes

It's pretty difficult to come up with something funny and witty to talk about when faced with news of the recent devastation brought by Hurricane Katrina in the gulf south. As most of us have already seen on the constant news loops and radio broadcasts, the destruction in Louisiana and Mississippi is beyond everyone's expectations. Thousands have lost their homes, their jobs, their pets, their lives. It has also brought out the best in the people of this nation, as disasters so often do in this country of ours.

I know at least in Little Rock radio stations and news channels are having competitions to see who can raise the most money to donate to the victims of the disaster. Truckers are donating their time and vehicles to bring down loads of blankets and bottled water. Folks all over the state are welcoming evacuees into their homes with open arms and shelters are being set up across the region. On base we've had an outpouring of donations from squadrons such as generators, flashlights, work gloves, pallets of bottled water, dump trucks, respirators, ATVs with trailers... the list goes on and on. The military populace has poured forth monetary donations and just keeps calling to ask how else they can help. And I'm sure it's just the same all over the country.

To think that just a few short months ago I was walking along these streets of Keesler AFB heading to class and running on the roads during PT. It's truly eerie to look at photos and try to envision the place that you remember underneath all of the water and debris. Please remember that donations of any sort are always welcome, but monetary donations are particularly helpful as the amount that an organization such as the Red Cross could purchase, with for example twenty dollars, will more than likely far outweigh what you could purchase on your own to donate. Of course, any help at all is greatly appreciated.

And just remember any little bit helps, here are some organizations you can contact to give donations for Hurricane Katrina relief:

www.redcross.org

www.feedthechildren.org

www.salvationarmyusa.org