Category: Uncategorized

Seriously

I wish had something nicer to say than “go fuck yourself” but alas, I don’t.  As I sip my coffee, I’m reminded why I dislike so many people.

For one person: Petty nastiness meant to cause a rift or hurt feelings has really just pushed my buttons.  Snarky comments didn’t inspire me to curl up in the fetal position and weep; really, those unsolicited comments kinda make me wanna go trailer park until you’re shitting your own teeth.

For another: if we were gonna be besties, we would be already.  Leave me alone.  Chasing me around after you violated the most sacred of codes is not cool.  I am so forgiving, but there are a few lines that once crossed, there is no return.

I’ll get to zen about all of it with a little time, but this morning, I’m annoyed as hell by the way people think they can go stomping around on the souls of others, inflicting pain, leaving scars.  You don’t have my permission to ruin my day.

dogs in my laundry

There are dogs sitting in my clean laundry pile.  More accurately, there are dogs wrestling in my clean laundry pile.  I remember now why it is they don’t get to come in my room unless it’s time to sleep…the growling, the barking, the “what do you have in your mouth? give me that now!”  All that, and the wrestling in my clean laundry pile.

“You could get off the computer and put that laundry away,” you might suggest.

I would roll my eyes at your suggestion.  I will pause now to do just that…done.  I have words to write.  I have creative thoughts to think.  After a long day at work where my creativity is stifled and smothered, I have words to write.  Some here, some in a notebook, some  words in emails.

After the words, I need to focus on some positive thoughts, set some positive intentions.  I do that kind of woo-woo stuff.  I believe in it.  Pulling my thoughts out of the dark spaces and into the light of positivity keeps me sane and probably keeps me from punching strangers in the face, so let me think my good thoughts.

Perhaps someday, I’ll think putting my laundry away has a higher priority than a little creativity and some woo-woo mojo, but not this day.  Today, there are chihuahuas in my laundry and that’s okay by me.

full of unsaid words

i’ve spilled words out in a personal blog for years and years now, but i’m still full of unsaid words.

i think some of the things i don’t say are best unspoken.  some of the things held in wouldn’t add any value if i said them…caustic stuff.

other things…ugggg…i think i don’t want to be any more open than i already am.  vulnerable.  yuck.  scary.

and still other stuff, i haven’t figured out yet how to say.

new tricks

a patient teacher took me to an indoor shooting range, and i had the best time.  i loved it.  LOVED it. like, wondered why i haven’t been shooting recreationally for giggles before now??  deep breath in, let it out slowly, bang.  repeat.  awesome.  seriously.  the target from my best grouping of the day is taped to the wall as i type this.

there was talk of taking me to an outdoor range soon to shoot sodas or cans of dog food so i can blow stuff up…and i have to say i was delighted at the very idea of making something go “boom!”

in event of a zombie apocalypse, you totally want me on your team.  mad skills, yo, maaaaad skills.

i can’t wait to try it again, indoors or out.  it was the most fun i’ve had in a long time.

foster

I watched the foster lists for months for a small dog that could stay with us for a while.  I wanted a small dog to keep our senior citizen chihuahua Pedro company during my long work days, and by fostering, I’d spare a dog from a kill shelter…and if the new dog wasn’t a fit for our household, he could be placed on the adoption list, life spared.  Win win.

Finally, I saw the one.  Another chihuahua, one of his eyes stitched shut after being attacked by larger dogs.  He was in a kill shelter, having been given up after the dog attack.  Poor little guy, he looked so small and helpless with the stitches.  I said I’d take him if no one else would, and no one else did…so Cheeto was carted from the kill shelter to the local rescue, stitches removed and I took him home, all within the same 24 hours.

Cheeto’s left eye is permanently damaged, pointing in the wrong direction, just a little sight left in it, but not much.  Someone dear to my heart once told me that if you added all my broken pets together, you could almost make one whole pet.  Sad, but true, since I am such a soft touch for the weak and the injured.

It only took a few days before Pedro and Cheeto were snuggled up on the blanket at the top of the couch, both poised to wake up and bark at danger and the garbage truck.  Cheeto is much younger than Pedro, so Pedro gets worn out playing long before Cheeto, but it’s good to see Pedro play again, even in short bursts.  Despite his visual impairment, Cheeto is a little fireball of energy; he figured out how to use the cat door immediately, which is great because I wouldn’t have the patience to let him out and in for his usual 800 trips.  Cheeto is a little bit of a thug, barking and growling at my guests, sometimes just a little too relentlessly, but then he soon forgets he was supposed to dislike them and climbs up for belly rubs.

The  foster coordinator checked on him by email…”we don’t have photos of him for the adoption site, so let’s schedule something soon, unless of course you’re going to adopt him.”

Looking over at the two sleeping chihuahuas wearing matching winter sweaters, I replied back, “Yes, I think he can stay.”  After I hit “send,” I wondered if it was the right choice.  Pedro stirred in his sleep, mumbled a little doggy bark bark bark…then Cheeto stirred, snuggled up closer to Pedro and made a little bark bark bark in his sleep too.  Yeah.  Right choice.

LYLAS

Do you remember “LYLAS” or “LYLAB?”  We used to write that in yearbooks back in the day.  Love you like a sister.  Love you like a brother.  For whatever reason, we couldn’t write “love you” or “love” outright–we had to qualify it, disclaim it, with “hey, I’m fond of you, but only like I’d be fond of a sibling” as though claiming someone as family was less provocative or edgy than just saying “I love you.”

LYLAS came to mind at our gathering Saturday night when we were talking about yearbooks and the “profound” messages we’d written to each other way back then.  This was a gathering of our old tribe, a tribe that came together in the late 1980’s. This is part of my chosen “family,” the LYLAS and LYLAB folks that will always be dear to my heart. Some of that tribe I still see often, and some of that tribe I only stay connected to via Facebook or text messages, but they are still “my people:” people who I can settle into a comfortable conversation and rapport with whether it’s been 10 days or 10 years since I’ve last seen them, and when and if they need me, I will rush to them no matter how long it’s been.  Some of that tribe I’ve known since I was 5 years old, and I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed everyone until we gathered all together, Jello shots in hand, trading stories and laughter.  There’s a good energy when you gather “your people” together, a collective happiness and comfort that can’t be faked.

We gathered this time in memory of our friend Jason.  Jason was a smiling, positive person who passed away this month, a shock to us all given how much effort he’d given this last year to improving his health.  We are in our early 40’s now, this tribe, and while I guess we are middle aged, it doesn’t seem right than any of us could die so soon.  We still have so many dreams, so much more to do, and it is a terrible loss that our people, our connections, could be gone in an instant.  Jason, I will miss you; we will miss you.  I “liked” things he posted on Facebook just hours before his death, but I hadn’t told him anything important or personal in ages, because, well, I guess I still thought we all had plenty of time.  I was wrong.

So, to my people, my tribe, wherever you are, whether you were able to raise a Jello shot on Saturday night or we raised it without you, please know that I LYLAS, LYLAB, just plain love you.  You are my people, the Deadbeat Club. “We would talk every day for hours; we belong to the deadbeat club.” Or if you prefer, we are the Breakfast Club, “demented and sad, but social.” No matter the name, you will always be my people.