Close Encounters. . . of the Annoying Kind

I have always believed that most humans, or maybe North Americans, have a certain sense of personal space. If a place is crowded and you have no choice but to stand side-by-side or sit in a chair next to stranger then it is socially acceptable to do such things. Otherwise, one should give strangers the courtesy of space. I do realize that some cultures don't observe this as much as others. I usually think those cultures are from countries with very large populations crowded into cramped cities. Like the major "metropoli" in Japan, China, and India. But here in the United States of America, one thing we are not short on is space and most people avoid being too close to others unless they have to.

This is not the case whenever I go to the movies with my husband. We are early birds by nature. We get to the movie theater early enough to enjoy being raped of our money at the concession stand. We allow plenty of time for last minute bathroom visits. We make sure we have the seats that we want. We try to go to matinees during the week to avoid crowds. Our habit is to enter the theater with Tommy walking in front of me because I like him to pick the seats. Sometimes we like to sit in the very top row because the arms on the chairs raise up and we can snuggle. (Note: this plan does not work if you are going to see a movie that kids will see too. They like to sit in the back row and you will not be able to enjoy your movie.) Every time, we choose seats at a respectable distance from others.

We are convinced that we are human magnets. EVERY DAMN TIME we go to the movies, someone comes in and sits directly in front of us or even directly behind us in an almost empty theater. This annoys the ever living shit out of us. Does this not annoy you? Are we crazy to think that the person should sit at least a few seats down so we can lean back, put our feet up, and chat without feeling like we're being listened to? I understand if lots of people are coming in, but I'm talking like 15 empty rows and some asshole/assholes always choose to sit right smack next to us.

This is a very close representation of the people in the theater that day and where they were sitting.

See what I mean? Rows and rows of empty seats and yet the guy sits right next to us! It makes me feel creepy, like he's some kind of sex offender or something.

It has gotten to the point that we just look at each other and start hysterically laughing. The offender/s must be wondering what the hell set it off considering they are close enough to hear us breathe and therefore must realize that nothing funny was said. I then spend the next ten minutes before the movie starts thinking about how much I want to stand up and move to other seats. However, for some strange reason, one feels like this would be a silent F-you to the person and we stay right where we are. Why? I do not know.

This is going to be my new resolution. As soon as someone comes in and sits closer than necessary to us, we are going to get up and move just a few seats down. Only an idiot would not get the message. Why should I be uncomfortable at the hands of an social oaf? My new motto is "Back off buddy! This is the U-S-of-A! And I have spacial rights!"

Play That Funky Mood White Girl

So, I went to the lake recently. I made this long list of things I needed to take with me and, in my flurry of organization, I forgot to take my phone charger. The result is I only took one picture while I was there. This one to the left. I took it at six a.m.

Maybe the picture is sort of apropos. It reflects my dark mood as of late. Yet, there is a little bit of light and maybe the promise of more to come. If the light would just hurry then you could see exactly how beautiful the view is. Yes, quite apropos.

My time at the lake was wonderful. My high school girlfriends and I go every year. Like us, our time at the lake has changed a lot. I remember one year, we took a keg and nine of us girls floated the thing in two nights. Now, after marriages, babies, and maturation, we catch a small buzz with a few beers and some girly mixed drinks and hit the sack by eleven. Well, they hit the sack.

I, as I have explained a few times, work night shift. I do my best to switch back to a daywalker's schedule when I am off, but it doesn't always match up. So, while everyone else was sleeping, I lay awake and stared at the ceiling. I'm glad though. It gave me time to think. I would really like more time to think in my life. And silence. I need more silence.

The worst invader of my desire for silence is the television. I have been considering imposing serious limits on my television intake. My husband is a television junky. In the past, when I have suggested decreasing our T.V. time, his face contorts into an expression of bewilderment as if I were speaking in tongues. In his defense, he has a very physical profession. He is ready to come home and plop down on the couch. Like most ideas I have, this will probably fall into the "things you say you're going to do and then never do" category. That category is in overload.

Yesterday I had one of those days when you're just in a really hateful mood. It started off when I woke up at four a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. So, I got up and played on the computer for a bit. That was fine but by about eight, I was starting to get sleepy again. I am just like a three year-old when I am tired- GRUMPY. At least I recognize this about myself. I had an appointment with my GYN at ten-thirty and I had decided by this time that I didn't want to go. That is my modus operandi. Get sleepy and grumpy and avoid commitments. Unfortunately, I really needed to go and I took a short nap. The nap did not cure my mood.

I get to the office and they send me down the hall to get an ultrasound so they could check out my dysfunctional ovaries. Near the ultrasound is another little waiting area. This office insists on their confirmation phone call that you arrive twenty minutes early for your appointment. I did. Yet, I still waited till half an hour after the scheduled time to get in. Grr.

That went fine and it actually felt good to find out that, as I suspected, my ovaries hate me. Then I had to wait to see the doctor. I was instructed to go back to the main waiting room. Though childless (so far by choice), I am not anti-motherhood or anti-children. I love kids. Just not the kids of people I don't know. Well, some kid I don't know had decided to take the entire waiting room hostage with constant yelling and whining. "I want mommy. I want mommy. I want mommy. Whaaaa!" I was trying to read my book to pass the time and I couldn't even make it through two sentences without having to reread the line. I must have read the same paragraph forty times before the kid's hillbilly father decided to take him out of the room. I shot daggers into his back as he clomped out in his red alligator boots.

I felt sweet relief when they called my name. I followed a girl to the back where she made me stand on a scale to prove I was just as fat as I was when I was there two weeks ago. And just like the girl two weeks ago, she invented a nice sounding blood pressure number that I know wasn't right. Did I mention I'm a nurse? My blood pressure is high. I take it at work all the time and it is always the same. Miraculously, this office lowers my blood pressure by twenty points on the top and bottom. Must have been the crying kid that relaxed me.

When finished, she showed me to another little cove with a waiting area until a room was available. The room had about ten chairs. Already in there, were two women in their late twenties. That's fine, but they proceeded to talk at the top of their lungs about every little detail about their toddlers and the phases they are going through. Once again, I attempted to read my book but was constantly interrupted by, "Little Joey hit me the other day and when I told him we don't hit, he hauled off and hit me again." And the response, "Oh, I know, little Eggbert hits me all the time. He also head-butts the floor constantly." And the response, "Did you know I read online that head-butting is a sign of intelligence?" After which I promptly threw myself out of my chair and began to head-butt the floor.

No, not really. But their conversation went on and on and on. Now, I am not anti-talking. But could you just lower your voices so I can read my book? I put the book away and attempted post a nasty status update about them on Facebook. Of course, I was too deep in the building for the network service on my phone to work. Finally, I got to see the doctor and escape reproduction hell. I may have to find a doctor's office with no OB next to the GYN after their name. Grrr.

I got to my car which was hotter than hell and I actually heard my ass sizzle when I slid into the seat. Then I proceeded to turn the wrong damn way and had to take the five-mile-long scenic route around the hospital campus. It was lunchtime and everyone, I mean EVERYONE was driving like a first-class turd nugget. After maneuvering through the Breckinridge Lane Demolition Derby I stopped into Dooley's for a bite. Another quality I have in common with a three year-old is I get grumpy when I'm hungry. (Really, I am obviously just a giant baby. I should start taking pacifiers with me everywhere I go.) This Dooley's only had like five tables and they were all taken. Grrrr.

I got my order to go and ate in my car in the parking lot because I wanted to go to that shining mecca called Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I need to start cooking a little healthier and I wanted to buy a wok and try my hand at some stir fry. A girl at work had told me she has an electric wok you can sit on the counter. That was exactly what I wanted. That was exactly what they didn't have. I settled on a non-stick stove top wok, which is basically a bowl shaped skillet. I also bought a rice steamer and some plastic chopsticks for lazy fingered people. They have little springs at the top. They rule. (FYI, I do know how to use real ones, so don't be embarrassed to ask me out for sushi.)

I had all of my stuff in my cart and was suddenly overcome by the need to pee. I headed up front and went to the bathroom. Yeah, you can see what's coming. When I came out, someone had taken my cart!!!! I figured it was one of the over-zealous employees and rushed back to the section expecting to see them putting my stuff back on the shelf. Instead, I glanced up the aisle and saw some woman pushing my cart around with my stuff still in it! Now, I know she saw the stuff. It wasn't small.

I walk up to her and in my nice voice, along with my nicest "what the hell are you thinking" face, I asked her, "Did you mean to grab that cart?" She was surprised of course to be called out and was all apologetic. Even in my foul mood, I was able to muster up my "friendly persona" and blather on about how it was O.K. and how one time at Kroger I accidentally grabbed some guy's cart thinking it was mine. And then, I also proceeded to tell her she could go ahead and use the cart because I was leaving. I took out my stuff and exchanged shallow assurances that it was alright and went to check out. Really, I should have thanked her. I probably wouldn't have left and would have walked around looking for stuff to buy that I really didn't need. Like the PedEgg. I must have a PedEgg! Or another damn Yankee Candle. Mmmm, Cotton Breeze.

Now, in an even foul-er mood, I had to go to Kroger. I made the mistake of going to a Kroger that was on the way home that is not the Kroger I usually go to. I can't stand not being able to find stuff. And the Kroger I went to is one of the ones that is longer than three football fields. They need water boys passing out cups of water as you make your way through. It wasn't too bad really. And the girl bagging my groceries was the best grocery bagger I have seen in years. She packed everything exactly like I would have. I put things on the conveyor belt with a system. Yet, most baggers still do a crappy job. And don't get me started on those 99 cent black eco-bags. I like my plastic bags. There. I said it. I don't care if your great-grandchildren are sleeping on piles of them in the year 2099. Maybe if they butt their heads a little more they can figure out a way to get rid of them.

I finally made it home. Fortunately for my husband, he had left to go to a music festival and wasn't around to enjoy my grinch mood. Later, I made an early dinner of Thai stir fry and it was wonderful. I left the television off for a while and the silence was really nice. It gave me time to reflect on how and when I began thinking that the world should revolve around me. I promised myself I would start to be more patient with the general public. And I will. As long as they get out my way and shut those kids up.

Radio Curse Words & Wardrobe Malfunctions

It seems that lately my already shallow well of ideas to write about has been a little dry. There are so many ways to go when writing a blog. Some blogs I read are everyday updates about the most mundane of chores and activities and some are all heady and intelligent, constantly making deep observations about politics and other controversial subjects. I, on the other hand, mainly aim to share the occasional funny story or annoyance.

A few things hinder me when coming up with subjects to write about. The first is I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings so I don't rant and rave about my family, friends, or co-workers (there goes most of my good material). The second is I am so even keel that I don't get truly upset very often. Add to that the fact that I really don't get out much and I am left having to put in a lot of effort to come up with something to write about. Making it even more difficult lately is the unfortunate affliction of having the attention span of gnat.

So, I came up with idea of sharing some stories that other people have told me that I find hilarious. Usually when someone tells you a funny story about something that happened to them, it is either funny or "you had to be there." I was not there for the next couple of stories but I still laugh when I think about them. Hopefully you will find them at least amusing enough to not feel I have totally wasted your time blathering on and on.

Chase and Tomfoolery

My husband, Tom, owns a small lawn business. A few years ago he hired a guy named Chase to help him out. Almost every morning from March to November, if it's not raining, they head out to work. Their relationship is not just one of employer/employee. They are also friends in a way, they don't really do much outside of work, but get along great.

It seems that anytime you get two guys together, unsupervised, there promises to be a certain amount of tomfoolery. They laugh and cut up and thankfully don't cause too much property damage.

One of their daily routines is to listen to talk radio. Everyday it's on, they tune into the Joe B. and Denny Show with host Dave Jennings. For anyone out there not from Kentucky or of the sports-impaired female persuasion, Joe B. and Denny are former UK and UofL basketball coaches, respectively. Chase is an avid UofL fan and Tom bleeds blue for UK. Seeing as they spend a lot of time in the truck, driving from one location to another, they often call in to the show to ask questions or to try to answer trivia.

One thing you should understand, if you don't already know, is that Joe B. is getting on in years. He looks and sounds like a Southern Baptist television evangelist. Like Yogi Bear with a southern accent.

So, one day Tom and Chase are cruising down Westport Road listening to the Joe B. and Denny Show. Joe B. asks a trivia question over the air. It was "What NBA basketball player.............." Chase thought the answer was .......... and hurried to call in to the show. If you have ever called in to a radio show you know they ask you turn off your radio so there will not be any backfeed/interference. They turn the radio down.

Chase is on hold waiting to give his answer. Dave Jennings, the host of the show, comes on the line and says, "Chase! What do you think the answer is?" Right then, as Chase begins to utter his answer, a car in the lane next to the truck swerves over in front of the truck, causing Tom to have to brake and swerve a little himself. Simultaneously, Tom shouts at the top of his lungs, "YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD!!!" He yells so loud, there was no mistaking that it could be heard on the other end of the phone call. Well, this sends Chase into uncontrollable laughter and he gets disconnected from the phone call. He and Tom are laughing so hard they can barely breathe.

They turn up the radio, and a minute later, due to the delay, while they are still laughing, they hear Dave Jennings say, "Chase! What do you think the answer is?" And there is a moment of silence where the station cuts out Tom yelling his obscenities. Then, in his southern evangelist drawl, Joe B. says, "Oh my. That's not the right answer." Like a disappointed grandfather. As you can imagine, by this time, Tom and Chase are about to have aneurysms, they are laughing so hard. Tom actually had to pull the truck into a parking lot and they got out of the truck and were bent over laughing and choking.

Finally to add insult to injury, later in the show, Chase makes another attempt to call the show and give an opinion. However, when Dave Jennings fields the calls during a break, he asks for the person's name and when he hears it's him again he says, "Chase, I think we've heard enough from you today."

When Tom came home and told me the story, I laughed and laughed. Something about it really cracks me up. Now, anytime Tom does something that causes him to cuss I say, in my best southern Yogi Bear drawl, "Oh my. That's not the right answer."

Oh, Grandma!

I recently asked the subject of this next story, via email, if I could tell her mishap here on my blog and she wrote back something like "No way! I'm saving that one for my future blog." Since she has kids and a job and all that, I am just going to assume she was kidding, will never have her own blog, and that it's O.K. to tell it. No is the new Yes, isn't it? I did promise I would change her name. I'll keep that one.

Hillary, is one of the most accidentally funny people I know. I have known her many years, and our countless escapades of drunkenness and idiocy have provided some great Charlie Chaplin/ Three Stooges style of physical comedy. The funny thing is, the two incidents I mention here, happened while sober.

The first one is just a short, honorable mention. Everyone hears folklore passed down through the generations about women going to the bathroom and accidentally stuffing the back of their skirt into their pantyhose and walking out. I always though it was fiction. Not for Hillary. She was at her sister's wedding and really had to go. She went in, did her business, and walked out of the bathroom fully relieved. That is, until she got to the dance floor and someone ran up and said, "Oh my god! Hillary! Your dress in stuffed into the back of your pantyhose and everyone can see your bottom!" Hi-larious!!

The second installment in the Hillary Follies begins when she decided it was time to lose some weight and opted to take water aerobic classes. Hillary joined the Y and was doing really well and was very disciplined. She would often take her swimsuit with her and go after work.

One night, she got to the Y, went to the locker room and changed into her swimsuit. She regularly wore a type of swimsuit called a "tankini." For all you men out there, it is a cross between a bikini and a one-piece. It has a bottom and then a separate tank-style top that covers the torso. She changed, grabbed her towel and headed to the pool.

The aerobics class went pretty much as planned. It's easy to look good next to a bunch of elderly women. Hillary made her way toward the stairs to exit the pool when the class was over. As she began her ascent she suddenly noticed that her swimsuit bottom was feeling sluggish, like it was dragging or sagging as she exited. She looked down and felt a sudden rush of horror through her body. She had forgotten to change into her tankini bottom!! In it's place, were the grandma panties she had worn to work that morning!!! Almost see-through when wet!!!

You just can't make up silliness like that.

Special May

I Quit!

On the sixteenth of this month, it will be the one year anniversary of the day I quit smoking. My close friends and fellow workers already know this because I mention the fact that I quit smoking at least every other day, probably much to their annoyance. I really would have thought that by this time I would be over it. I mean, I am over it, but I still have occasional longings.

I am totally over the cigarette after a meal and in the car. Also, we never smoked in our house so quitting the five times I would step outside for a smoke wasn't too difficult. I do miss sitting outside with the dog. Now, it feels strange to just sit there and stare off into space without a cigarette in my hand.

The part I am not completely over is the social part. I don't go out much, but when I do, I really want a smoke with my drink. I frequently find myself wishing I were one of the people who can smoke only when they drink. Sometimes I try to rationalize, maybe I could just smoke one. Alas, I know that is not the case. Just one and it would be over. Also, when a coworker leaves to take a smoke break, I really feel jealous. I miss the smoking social scene. There were always cool people out smoking. Not that my non-smoker acquaintances aren't cool, it was just a way to get away and socialize.

I have full body cigarette cravings about every month or so now. The craving is a sort of anxious, antsy feeling. It's like how you feel right after you've been frightened and your muscles feel kind of weak and jumpy at the same time. They're pretty easy to get over. You would think after one year you wouldn't have any cravings, but I smoked for nineteen years. Yeah, I said nineteen. It is hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I am even old enough to have smoked for nineteen years.

Several things keep me from smoking again. I would like to tell you that it is for my health and saving money, but it isn't. The first reason I won't go back to smoking is my husband quit five months before me and would bury me alive in the back yard if I lit back up. The second reason is I told myself I would quit when I finished nursing school because I didn't want to lean over my patients smelling like a dirty ashtray. The third reason is other smokers smell like a dirty ashtray. Every now and then, the scent is appealing. There's a doctor at my hospital that always smells like cigarettes and cologne and I find it pleasant. However, when I walk into a patient room and it is full of smoker family members, I thank myself for quitting. Stale cigarette odors are nasty.

So, yay me! I quit.

*************************************************

I won't be quitting this one!

My husband and my anniversary is at the end of this month. We don't usually make a big deal of it. We don't really make a big deal of any holidays except maybe the Kentucky Derby. Derby is a holiday right? This year, I told him I want to go out to celebrate my birthday, quitting smoking, and our anniversary all together. We haven't blown money on a ridiculously expensive meal in a long time. I'm thinking Z's Oyster Bar and Grill (Filet and Crab Legs! Mmmmm!) or maybe Morton's downtown (where we ate the weekend after we married).

In the end, I don't really care if we go or not. The times I really enjoy with Tommy can't be planned. Like last night, we listened to Steely Dan and sang the whole way home from dinner. I love those times with my baby. Happy Anniversary!

Passing the Buck

I just have a short post today. I am off to work for a couple of nights and I couldn't stand the thought of my most recent post sitting there, sending out negative vibes. I am on my way to handling my issues like I always do. Mull it over until I come to the realization that people are who they are and if they don't want to change they never will and next time I will know better.
Aahh. Right back to passive. Like an old, comfy pair of slippers. It's the only way I can do it. It is just who I am and I don't like drama. It's how I stay happy!

Apres Moi le Eclatement

So far I have really enjoyed writing posts on my new little blog. Adding pictures. Attempting to slightly entertain. I like happy. Happy is where I want to be. BUT, happy is not where I am this moment. If you do not want to know this side of me, please stop reading and wait for tomorrow's entry.

See, I have an issue with someone. And I can't come right out and tell you about it because, well, some things just shouldn't be out there for all to read. Such a public forum is not the appropriate place to air my grievances and involve someone else without their permission. Opening myself to criticism on the other hand, is my own choice. I know what you're thinking. Why even mention it then? Why dangle the juicy carrot in front of your face? Because I really just want to blow off some steam before I explode. I would like to make one small disclaimer, I am not angry with my husband. Our marriage is one of the few things I really believe in.

Right now, my displeasure is a little itty bitty cluster of cells residing inside me just above my abdomen but not quite to my chest. It has a few long, skinny feelers that normally go unnoticed until I start thinking and then I can feel them constricting my trachea. My cheeks turn red and feel hot to the touch. Every time this happens, the little itty bitty cluster of cells divide over and over. They keep growing until my brain comes up with some logical reason to not be angry. It works. For a while.

The problem is I am just so very passive. No, not passive-aggressive. I dropped those childish games in my twenties. I am passive in that I really usually just don't give a crap what other people do. At first I came to this way through many years of self exploration and awareness. I learned the same old crap that most of us learn. "You can't control what others do, only what you do." Blah, blah, blah. I'm no great philosopher about to pass on something you don't know. If you didn't know this, then you really should learn. It is really one of the first steps toward not caring what people think of you and what you do. We all think we're so important and really, we're not. (Right now, if you are wondering if this is the same girl who wrote all of those previous silly entries, you are not alone, so am I.)

No, the problem is that at some point, instead of using my lassez faire approach to the actions of others as a way to accept and love everyone around me, I started using it as a sort of defense mechanism. Like, "Hey buddy, you just do whatever you want, cuz you're going to anyway, and if I just don't care then it just won't be my problem." It works for the most part.

When it really bothers me, is when what someone does affects me or other people around them and they refuse to acknowledge it, change it, or STOP IT! Please. I am not asking that everyone run around trying to be all deep and transcendental. Just have some basic self-awareness. Use logic. "If I do this, then it will affect that person over there, and then they will have good reason to not want to be around me." It sounds so simple doesn't it?

Oh, I'm no freaking angel. I get self absorbed like everyone else. It is so human to be that way. I am always amazed at our innate desire to live and to do it as unconsciously as is possible. I fall into the trap too. It's nearly impossible not to. Unless you're Buddha or something.

So please, this is all I ask. When you are whining and crying about how everyone is against you, stop and think, "What have I done to deserve this?" NO, not in the innocent way of one who doesn't deserve it. REALLY, what exactly, through your actions, have you done to deserve what you're getting? And what have you done to cause others to react to you the way they do? I know what I have done. I have not cared enough to tell people what I really think about the things they do and how it affects me and hurts me. I have been way too passive. AND IT'S GONNA STOP.

Green Puke-O

Once again, I have suffered mental anguish at the hands of the Sundance Channel. This time, however, instead of a moving documentary on saving the world it is a disturbing collection of short films by Isabella Rossellini. This is all my fault. If I would just watch that episode of Seinfeld for the forty-seventh time like normal people, I wouldn't happen upon things like this.

This thing I speak of is Green Porno. You may have seen it promoted here and there on various cable channels. Ms. Rossellini, a world renowned actress, invites you to watch her new short films. She touts, "There is nothing porno about it. It's just fun!" Fun. Fun?

So I am looking through the free movies again (cheapass) and see several Green Porno films available for rent on the Sundance Channel. The first one is "Bee." Not knowing what is about to "bee"fall me, I choose to view it. Evidently Isabella has completely lost her mind and is sleeping with someone real high up in the television industry. How someone did not stop her from making these is crime.

Every short film lasts from one to three minutes and each one is about the mating habits of a different insect or creature. Aside from the fact that I am a nurse and the words penis and vagina still make me slightly uncomfortable (can't we just make weewee and hooha official?), what is really disturbing about the films is that Rossellini dresses up as the insect and proceeds to demonstrate the act of mating on other paper mache insects that look like they've been made for a float in a parade. The first one was so shocking and disturbing that I immediately rented the next one.

The next one was about snails. Snails have sex? I must say this one was equally disturbing and then some. Did you know that snails are sadomasochists? NEITHER DID I!! And I think I could have lived my life without ever knowing. Unless of course I make it on Jeopardy and the final question is "Snails engage in this type of kinky sex..."

Tommy was already asleep for the night. I can't wait till he gets home. I shouldn't have to suffer this alone. I am going to make him watch every episode.

If you are the adventurous type, and love a good shocking laugh, then go check out these films. If you have Insight cable, go to Movies, then Free Movies, then Sundance Channel. You'll never "bee" the same.

Dogs, Bathrooms, and Movies

I have three little posts today. Yippee!

Dogs

If diamonds are a girl's best friend and dogs are man's best friend then I think I will be going to Target to buy Old Spice, tighty-whiteys, and some beef jerky to convert to the other side. I love my dog.

I grew up as a cat person. I still love cats but alas, my hubster, Tommy, is allergic to them. I tried to convince him to start getting allergy shots and it was a no-go. I miss having a cat terribly, but I live vicariously through another person's blog I read, and she has like ten cats.

When I was in high school my parents invited two dogs, Boxers, to live in our home. Being the self-absorbed socialite that I was, I did not have time for those slobbering fools. At the time, they were simply a nuisance. They were vile creatures who would chew my underwear and socks if I left them laying around. Of course, I was way too busy to pick up my dirty clothes.

So, I was never a dog person. I didn't hate dogs, nor was I afraid of them. I just always thought they were stinky and germ infested. If a dog got close enough and somehow licked my hand or my leg, it really grossed me out. Cats on the other hand, they never bother you much without being asked and they self-clean. Nevermind that some of that cleaning usually involves the nether-region, they don't stink.

Since Tommy is unwilling to live with red eyes, a swollen face, and a closed airway (Can you believe that? All the things I sacrifice for him!) we agreed to get a dog someday. I had one stipulation, that I be in on the dog selection process and he not show up out of the blue with a yap dog or a Great Dane. Two years ago, we decided it was time to look for a puppy.

I visited the Humane Society (heartbreaking) and I saw a little freckled puppy named Speck. Speck would not come to the front of the cage but sat in the back with a sad look on her face. I took Tommy back the next day and she was gone! I asked, and they had taken her to a Feeders Supply in Indiana. We traveled over the river and she had just arrived. My husband is pretty much a sucker for any dog, so he immediately fell in love.

She was such a cute puppy. Unfortunately, all my pics from that time are on my old phone and I haven't yet figured out how to retrieve them. We went through a few names and eventually settled on Bowie. First, because her little legs were bowed out (I think from the cages). Second, because T. is a huge David Bowie fan.

It has been two years since we brought her home. As far as basics go, she has been a great dog. She never really chewed much, she was essentially potty trained, and she minds us well. Her bad side is she only minds us inside the house. Outside, she becomes feral and goes bezerko! Also, she is a jumper. Jumping on people is my second biggest dog pet peeve after barking. I have tried and tried and still try and she can't get it through her thick skull.

Aside from that, she is such a joy. She's smart and playful and sweet. She loves to go for walks and on car rides. When it's time for bed, she runs up the stairs, jumps on the bed, lays down and is asleep in minutes. YES, we let the dog sleep in the bed. I may wake up covered in dog hair but she loves it so much and the sheets can be changed.

She keeps T. company while I'm at work. When I work three nights in a row, the first night I am off, she is attached to my hip. It's like she missed me and she's especially lovable. I take her on walks and I'm usually the one who gives her treats, so if I move a muscle, she is right there. One of my favorite things about Bowie is she loves to stretch out on her back more than any dog I've ever known. She's so cute when she does it. You have to rub her pink belly.

I know everything I've said could be applied to almost any dog. The difference is she's my dog. I never knew the love of a dog, and now I do. My eyes well up with tears when I think about the fact that she won't live forever. I can't bear to think of it. I can no longer watch the commercials where they show the dogs in cages. You know the one. The one with the Sarah McLachlin song. Gut wrenching! So here are a few pictures of the second love of my life:





*************************************************

Bathrooms

My house is a great house with good bones but it's very outdated. When I tell people everything in it is from the sixties and seventies they say, "Oh, but retro is in!" To which I reply, "I know, but it's not retro cool. It's retro grandma." It is, but I love my house and I am thankful to have it. Lately though, everything is starting to go wrong. I think that's how life goes. Your dryer breaks, then your oven quits working, and you just pray that the air conditioner makes it one more summer.

So, the hall bath decided it was time to go on strike. The grout in the shower was cracked and had gaping holes and the hideous medicine cabinet went on the fritz. When I say hideous, I mean it. Here's a pic (this is the same one in another bathroom):

The lights for the bathroom were on the medicine cabinet and so was the only electrical outlet. It was time for a makeover. I spent four days removing wallpaper with orange and green flowers, removing the wallpaper backing that would not come off with it, washing off the glue, taping, priming, painting, shopping for lighting, wall plates, a cabinet, and a mirror. I am thrilled with the result! It's kinda plain and I need one more picture to hang by the light switch. I had to paint the frame of the mirror I bought and the paint peeled off the edges so I will have to replace it but it's great for a four day frugal re-do!

The pictures on the wall are music related pictures for Tommy. The big one is a picture of John and Yoko. The others are Hendrix, The Stones, Grateful Dead and The Allman Brothers. They were my little surprise for him. He loved it!

*************************************************

Movies

I wrote a post about songs you can't get out of your head. This one is about movies you watch every time they're on TV. I have a few that are worthy of repetition, like Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, Sophie's Choice, The Sound of Music. We all watch The Sound of Music. But I like the movies that kinda suck or are sort of stupid but you're driven to watch them anyway.

For instance, Point Break. The acting in this movie is hideous. Keanu Reeves has got to be one of the worst actors to ever clumsily grace the silver screen. Yet, it is oddly appealing. If I am channel surfing and it's on, I will watch it. Tommy agrees. I also have an unexplained, embarrassing affinity for She Devil. I know! It's horrid, right? Roseanne Barr? And what was Meryl Streep thinking? She is, in my opinion, the greatest actress of all time. How could she demean herself like that?

I know someone else who says they have to watch Tommy Boy and Problem Child. Problem Child? Even I have to turn my nose up at something.

So what is your movie? What are the ones that you just have to watch?

Facebook Flatulence

I love me some Facebook! It is wonderful to get in touch with old friends, see what's going on their life, explain to them that you've been a slacker but recently managed to get your shit together. Most of all, I just like to see who's on there. People you know well, people you sort of know, people you don't know, people you wish you knew. I like crawling through other people's friend lists, looking for that ever evasive long lost friend or that hottie from high school. (Did I really send that guy an anonymous rose on Valentine's Day? He's still wearing bloochers with duct tape and peg-legging his jeans!)

I have so far been fascinated by the whole "friending" part. I have been surprised many times by some of the friend requests I have received. I am an open book. There might be a handful of people I have met in my whole life who I absolutely cannot stand. Therefore, I have accepted every friend request that has come my way. I especially love the "do I know this person?" request. I chalk it up to all those drugs I did in the 2000's and hit Confirm.

For some reason, I will accept any one who requests me, but I am timid about sending out friend requests. I will see someone and some little memory will pop up in my head and I will want to friend them. But I don't. Well, usually I don't. Until, one day, I was looking through one of my best-friend's (let's call her June-Bug) friend list. I saw this guy. I knew him in high school. I think we may have even gone to a dance together. He was HI-larious! Let's call him....Bill Woodstown. Now remember, I am a timid friend requester, so after a day or two of thinking it over, I sent him a friend request. He promptly accepted and my friend tally increased.

One of my memories of him is so adolescent I am getting pimples just typing this. He would fart all the time. He farted a lot. June-Bug was never able to resist a good laugh at farts. To this day farting and people tripping and falling down still send her into peals of laughter. This only encouraged Bill Woodstown. So one night he though it would be funny to run around us in circles while farting. (He may have been the original crop duster!)

So. Long story long. The other day I had a friend request and I was like "Hey! Cool!" and then I sent a message to June-Bug to say, "Look who friended me! Wow, blast from the past!"

It was during this private FB messaging that I mentioned to her that I had seen a picture one of her past flames on Bill Woodstown's FB page. I wanted to be able to give her better directions to the pic and I went to my FB friend list.

Lo and Behold! Bill Woodstown was nowhere to be found on my friend list. I had been UN-friended!!!! OMG! I was aghast! I made one small step for friend-kind and then took one giant step into a pile of moon poop! Well of course, I immediately start coming up with reasons he would unfriend me. Maybe I broke his heart and didn't realize it. No... Maybe he... No..... Maybe....no, not that either. I honestly can't come up with a reason for him to slap me in the face like Elton John challenging Liberace to a duel.

In the end, all I have to say is look out Bill Woodstown! If you see me out in public you better run fast or you will soon find yourself trapped while I fart circles around you!

Public Airs

I decided, after a few weeks of consideration, to go public with my blog. It was a difficult decision to make for a few reasons. The first being that I would have to delete my very first entry written in March because it was about someone specific in my life and it wasn't very nice. It was a total bitch session. I felt so good after I wrote it, but I felt uneasy that someone would find it and tell that person about it. (Don't worry, it wasn't about you!)

The second reason it was a difficult decision is, from now on, no more bitch sessions about anyone at all. I meant for this to kind of be like a journal. Sort of therapeutic. Maybe the therapy is finding a way to come to terms with irritants without spouting a river of obscenities.

Lastly, there is an element of self-importance to writing and putting it out there for all the world to read. Like, "Here! Read me! I am witty and interesting!" I would never claim to be anywhere near a well-developed writer. As a matter of fact, the whole time I am writing an entry, I am painfully aware that I use way too many commas and probably in the wrong places.

Misspellings and bad grammar be darned. I have thoroughly enjoyed pecking out my first few entries. You can read it or not. I hope you like it enough to stop by every now and then. You will notice I have used a different name. This is just to keep away the stalkers. Please subscribe on the right side of the page if you want to get regular updates. If you post comments, be nice darn dang it!

Jerry Aristotle

My husband cracks me up.

We watch Jeopardy every night. Well, we record it every night and catch up on the nights I'm off. I would say that my husband and I are of equal intelligence. In completely different subjects, but fairly equal.

The difference lies here: When I watch Jeopardy, I pay attention to the title of every category. You have to so that you can answer some of the questions correctly. For example, they will have a category titled, "Crossword Clues F." This means that every answer will begin with the letter F. So if the clue is, "Wind instrument in the orchestra" you answer, "What is flute?" instead of, "What is oboe?"

My husband on the other hand, NEVER pays attention to the category. This always produces some hilarious results. Here is a play by play of a recent viewing:

Contestant: I will take "Johnny" for $600, Alex.
Alex: This famous man..blah blah blah.....

My husband: Who is Nostradamus!?
Me: (wheezing and barely able to breathe through the laughter) JOHNNY NOSTRADAMUS?!!

Thankfully, my hubby is a good sport and able to laugh at himself. We had to pause the show and for five minutes we laughed and made up funny names. Bobby Copernicus. Gary Tchaikovsky. Brian Michelangelo. Larry Voltaire.

If you ever see me laughing like a crazy person in my car, it is probably because I am thinking of that moment.

My Want List

Due to the fact that I work third shift, I have absolutely no regular sleep schedule. I can stay up all night or, if I don't work, I can be in bed by eight-thirty and sleep the night through. This morning I woke up at five. I lumbered into the computer room only to remember my husband had taken the computer to be fixed. So I tiptoed back into the bedroom to watch television.

I was looking through the movies available for rent when I saw a category called "Free Movies." Under this selection were different channel headings and I chose the Sundance Channel. It looked like the usual documentary and quirky movie fare. I quickly chose to watch a documentary called FLOW: For Love of Water. It was all about how the world's water supply is quickly becoming privatized and poor people are being robbed of their birth right to free water. It also touched on the subject of large corporations in the United States digging wells and drying up creek beds that flow through other people's land and what gives them the right to the water. And it claimed that in five to ten years, some states in the west will run out of water.

I always end up crying when I watch things like this. A small part of my upset is due to empathy of the poor people and their plight. But if I am honest, the real reason I get so weepy is because these movies make me confront my own life. This is in two parts.

The first part is the fact that I feel absolutely helpless. I mean, what can I possibly do to change the world? This is why I don't like watching the news with my husband (who watches news all day long). It makes me feel out of control. I can't change the crazy shit this country is doing.

The second part is I do want to do something to make a difference.

For the last few years and especially the last year, I have felt very uneasy. I have felt like I have no purpose to my life. My husband thinks this is crazy considering I graduated nursing school and I work on a cardiac oriented unit in a hospital. He points out that every time I go to work, I am making a difference in someone's life. I acknowledge that. I do connect with some of my patients.

Still, I have a need to fill my life with something else. I'm not sure if we are going to have a child, which is a whole other story. If we don't, I need something else. I want to do the things we always just talk about. The way to get there though, is not easy. Time is money. To have money you have to work. To have money, you have to stop living paycheck to paycheck. To stop living paycheck to paycheck you have to face your materialistic tendencies. You have to decide, what do I really need? What do I really want?

After the movie was over, it was about seven a.m. and I turned off the television and laid quietly in bed. A soft glow of morning sunshine was peeking out around the edges of the hideous curtains hanging in our bedroom. I have always hated those curtains. Fugly doesn't cover it. I can't tell you how many times, while I was in nursing school, I thought as soon as I have the money, I am buying new curtains. Well, I'm out of school. I can afford those curtains. But do they really matter? I pondered why my husband and I live in a four bedroom home. We could live on less. I started making a list of wants. Here is my list:

I want to want less
I want to live in a smaller place
I want less bills
I want to have a purpose
I want to go places
I want to make a difference
I want to be free of restraint
I want to be conscious
I want to stop living unconsciously

About this time, he woke up and asked me what I was thinking about. Ironically, I was typing up my list of wants on my Blackberry (that I absolutely adore). I showed him the list. We had a long conversation about all of it. From the movie to money to altruistic endeavors. We didn't see eye to eye on everything, but it was therapeutic.

I'm realistic. I will never be some kind of Mother Theresa. I am way too sarcastic for that. However, I do think I can make a difference in my own way. Like everything, it takes a while for plans to come to fruition. But, I surfed the net today looking for opportunities to volunteer and use my skills as a nurse. I may be on to something. Those curtains can wait.

You Made Me Miss the Slick Rick Gig!

For the last three weeks or so I have had a song running through my head. Does that happen to you? I know everyone gets a song stuck in their head every now and then. But this song, it just won't go away!

It all started because I asked my husband to get me Amy Winehouse's Back to Black CD. Dutiful he is, so I had it the next day. It has about ten songs on it, none of which are very lengthy, enabling one to listen to it over and over. And over. And over. And over.

It is one of the best albums I have listened to in a long time. I absolutely love every single song on it. The first song is Rehab and, while I love it, I am a little sick of it after the hundreth time. All of the other songs are superb. I love the bluesy, jazzy, oldies, big-band feeling to her music. The lyrics, though, that is what gets you. I am amazed at how she manages to fit in so many curse words and drug and sex references and have it sound, well, normal.

So this song, the third on the list, is called Mr. Jones (What Kind of Fuckery). Who, I ask, can resist liking a ballad with the word "fuckery" in it? NOT ME! She croons, "What kind of fuckery is this?!" The very next line, she blames a guy for making her miss "the Slick Rick gig." Oh! It's genius!

I feel so bad that Miss Winehouse is an alcoholic crack addict. So many of the most talented musical artists are addicted to drugs and alcohol. The sad part about it is, I wonder, if she cleaned up, would her music still be great?

I'm not enough of an A-hole to wish anyone ill will. I hope she cleans up. But I am starting to think I may need rehab to get this song out of my head.

"What kind of fuckery are we? Nowadays you don't mean dick to me..."