This girl

This dog, who I never in a million years imagined would live in this house, is fast becoming the new great love of my life.

And yet, I am her second choice. She is perfectly willing to blow me off the second MCB is around.

But for her, I’ll settle for second best.

She is sweet and gentle and so calm. So unlike others of her breed. Seriously, how often do you hear the words “calm” and “Lab” in the same sentence?

Our friend, her first person, was so kind to her and trained her so well that she is just a remarkable joy to have around. She waits for permission for everything: to jump in the car, to go out the door, to eat, to roll around on the floor.

And it’s not in a cowering, submissive, fearful way. She’s just super respectful. She doesn’t knock anyone down in her enthusiasm to go for a walk, she never sticks her nose into anyone’s crotch, and she doesn’t chase the chickens.

One of our cats is actually a bit offended that she pays zero attention to him. I reassure him that he still rules the roost, but he can tell that I’m lying.

I’ve had dogs before: a golden retriever while I was young, Lhasa Apsos, a couple of cow dogs, and then, the best dog ever born into this world, Sally Sue.

Sally was really special, a wise old soul in a really weird looking I am clearly a rez dog sort of way. Part heeler, part pit bull, part chihuahua, part coyote, and lots of parts of random, unidentifiable other breeds – maybe even a cat or rabbit mixed in there.

If you’ve known a rez dog, you understand, if you haven’t, it’s a bit hard to imagine.

And yet, funny looking as they tend to be, they are also, usually, the most loyal, appreciative, loving animals you will ever know. They certainly don’t have any sense of entitlement.

So Sally is the dog to whom all other dogs will always be compared. And so far, no one has come even close.

But our new girl is proving to be something really special in her way. She may end up being the other dog to whom all other dogs are compared.

Roget

roget

I love him.

Backstory: I’ve been in a foul humor lately and trying to figure out some things in my life because I need some changes. Something bigger than the dead friend’s dog. Bigger than finding 8 eggs in the henhouse instead of 2, and bigger than sitting on my ass and not running for the last month.

I know, hard to beat.

So I started picking through all of the things in my life that make me feel bad about myself, of which there are many, and many of them can’t be changed overnight, if ever, and tried to come up with one thing I could do that might bring in a little light.

One particular area which offers many opportunities for self-flagellation is the fact that I am not using my god given gift of writing except to entertain myself every once in a while. I’ve completely fizzled out into the land of writers who have either been blocked or just plain given up.

First step, start some consistency in the journal.  Next step, pick up the pace with the blog. After that, start being regular with my 11-year-old column. Then, find some freelance work. Segue into pushing the comfort zone with submissions.

And yes, this is all feeling good.  It’s kind of the bright spot of my day when I can create a blog post or respond to an editing gig.

And then today, I came home sick, and I actually do feel like shit, but I’m also excited to be at home writing rather than at work doing data entry, which is what I was working on when my head started to hurt, and I sat down to write and I needed a word and instead of going to Dictionary.com, I actually ran upstairs and got my friend Roget, who has been sitting on the shelf, ignored, for over a year now.

And even after all of this time, he is still speaking to me.

And as I grabbed him off the shelf, “The Glamour of Grammar” called out to me in her compelling voice, so she came down to the kitchen with me too, and here the three of us sit, getting reacquainted, and I realize that, in this particular arena of change, by inviting my old friends to sit down at the table, I’m on my way back.

Melancholy

Sometimes I find it so distressing that I am, once again, fighting melancholy. It happens so often.

“How often is often?” you ask…let’s say an average of 3 – 6 days a week.

“That’s kind of fucked up,” you might think.

Yes, yes it is.

And this is me on medication.

And this is me with the strength of a fucking ox.

This is me, sitting in my bed, wanting to crawl under the covers, maybe watch Mean Girls, or maybe that would take too much effort and I could just absent-mindedly surf Facebook taking tests to find out who my mythological spirit animal is, but instead, I am writing this, knowing that as soon as I hit “publish” I will get up, go downstairs, help with dinner, play with the dog (who will definitely know that I am faking it) and act like everything is fine.

And it will be for a while – it will get my mind off of…my mind. No one will know the Herculean will that it has taken to eat a steak, fresh off the steer and grilled to perfection just for me. No one will know the craving I have for solitude and escape

Why not just give in to it tonight?

A myriad of reasons, most of which boil down to shame or fear.

I am ashamed for anyone to know that I feel this blue when nothing has happened today to make me feel this way.

I am embarrassed for MCB who is generally very content, to see me like this for no apparent reason.

I am afraid that if he does know how I feel tonight, he will, like my ex-husband, decide that I am either psychosomatic or just a drag and leave.

I am afraid for my children to see me sad because they were witness to my nervous breakdown years ago and I never want them to have to either worry about or navigate through that again.

Which leads to the holy terror that I feel when I think that letting go, giving in, for even one evening, will cause a spiral into the depths of mental and emotional hell and that I don’t know if I will ever be able to crawl out again.

I am afraid if I take or do anything to escape that I won’t be “dealing with my feelings” which will result in my severe dysfunction as an adult along with a full-blown drug addiction.

I am afraid that if I give in, it means that the medication that I do take isn’t working, that my sadness is too much for it.

I am ashamed that I am medicated.

I am ashamed of what others would think of me if they knew the truth.

I am afraid of others expressing their opinions to me, about me.

My desire to check out and sit on my ass is mortifying in a world where my friends are always game to do something. It shames me that I would rather hide in my bedroom than spend the evening with my fabulous children. I fear that if I do actually do that, then tomorrow something will happen to one of them and I will forever live with the guilt that I wasted this night “feeling sorry for myself.”

So, I’m wrapping up this post; I can smell the grill. Guess I’m going to go play with the dog.

Never Say Never

“I will never have a dog while I live in town.”

“I will never bring a dog into my house with cats.”

“I will never have any kind of dog but a cow dog.”

“I will never have guns in my house…”

“…I will never hunt…”

“…especially if it’s not for food.”

“I will never have a dog that fetches.”

“I will never have a dog that needs to go on walks.

“I will never have a dog that jumps into random bodies of water.”

“I will never have a needy pet.”

“I will never, ever, EVER get a lab.”

Enough said
Enough said

This is some crazy (yet cool) shit

2 months ago:

I took a basket of clothes to my favorite consignment shop. Favorite because 1) the owner is so much fun to visit, 2) her taste in clothing is extraordinary; she carries clothes that range from Ann Taylor LBDs to 1950’s housedresses and 3) she has the ability to make you feel as if you can totally pull off whatever it is you’ve decided to try to pull off, thus boosting your self-esteem 1,000-fold.

So on this particular day, I felt like shit when I went in and declared upon entering, “I feel like shit; I am not trying anything on today. I have an upcoming wedding, but I’ll come back another day to shop.”

But, while she was looking through the basket, she was also keep a keen eye on my wanderings throughout the racks. At one point she said, “That orange dress is super cool.”

And it was.

Just my thing – absolutely irresistible.

Thick polyester – the kind you could tie in a knot, wet, and it still wouldn’t wrinkle. And covered with beads: rhinestones and seed pearls. And hand-laced fringe at the hem. And, hand made – one of a kind.

And orange.

It was only $2 more than the credit that I had just earned with my basket.

2 months ago to yesterday:

I was so excited to wear the dress that I tried it on regularly (at least once a week). I spent hours online picking out the perfect accessories. I bought a slip. I agonized over shoes vs. boots.

Last night. Wedding night:

Getting dressed, I had a moment of hesitation; Could I really pull this off or should I wear something more “normal” and less of a statement?

Then I remembered the delicious feeling I had when I first saw it, the warmth that spread throughout my soul as I examined each and every mini-bauble lovingly sewn on from neck to knee.

The gloves I bought didn’t work and the necklace wasn’t perfect. But the dress was.

Now it gets exciting:

After dinner, a woman, who I didn’t know, approached me and asked if she could speak with me.  It all sounded very intrigue-y so of course I said yes.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but where did you get your dress?”

I told her.  She didn’t know the place because she’s from outside the radius of the shop’s clientele. but then she took a deep breath and said, “That’s my Great Aunt May’s dress.”

Long story short, Great Aunt May lives in Lubbock, Texas. At 90, as she prepared to finally give in to the idea of assisted living, and my gal went to Lubbock to help her out, Great Aunt May said, “Why don’t you take a couple of dresses.”

My new best friend chose the orange and brought it home to New Mexico. It hung in her closet for three years, awaiting alterations. Realizing that she was never going to join dress with sewing machine, she took the dress to the Goodwill and said goodbye.

Somehow, over time (another couple of years, I think) the beads and the fringe made their way to Colorado and my favorite consignment shop where it then made its way into my closet and onto my body and to the wedding, where Great Aunt May’s great-niece, the dress, and I finally converged.

How cool is that?

 

IMG_1971

Wow. Just Wow.

2:30 am.

A.M.!!!

“I just had a super sexy dream about you…(insert embarrassing details here.) I hope I’m not waking you up.”

It’s been so long since we’ve communicated that you are completely unaware that I have been in relationship and living with someone for a year and a half, and the only possible awkwardness or inappropriateness you consider about this text is whether or not you woke me up?

Wow. Just Wow.

 

Dinner Out

Yep, I’m going out to dinner with friends.

2 hours away.

In another state.

Because I can.

Because I am trying on “spontaneous,” “adventuresome,” and “friend who actually makes some effort.”

A lot has happened in my relationship world as it pertains to friendships.

First, I lost one of my very best friends. The reason why will remain unspoken. It has been painful and lonely and caused me to question not only everything about her, but more importantly, everything about me.

Then, as often happens, falling in love and creating a family together takes up quite a bit of that time that, were I single, would be spent with friends.

I’m not a keep-in-toucher, I can feel deep love for someone, and not talk to them for months or even years and pick up right where we left off.

And, I’m a loner. I have a natural tendency to blow people off so that I can be alone.

All of which leads up to a conversation with my children about MCB’s friends that went something like this, “Oh, we really like Joe, he’s super cool, but Bob…freakshow.”

Pause, wheels turning, “Mom, you don’t really have any friends.”

“Yes I do.”

No I don’t.

I mean, obviously I am friends with the people I work with and I am friends with a lot of MCB’s friends and I do have a couple of close friends here who I never see but still love, but do I have a tribe?

Not anymore.

And then…

MCB and I have a mutual friend from our pasts who we love and just moved to the area.  Lucky us.

And then…

An old old friend, a very important person in my world for a good chunk of time, who I hadn’t spoken with in years, came to visit the friend just mentioned.

And then…

I realized that I have some super important people in my life that I actually love dearly and with whom I want to maintain a connection.

So I posted a photo of these 3 men on Facebook and I received this response, “Great photo. We’re in Utah and we miss you. Come see us.”

So I am driving to Utah to see people that I love because it’s important that I have people that I love in my life.

 

 

 

Today’s Project

From the Oxford Dictionary

injustice

Lack of fairness or justice

An unjust act or occurrence

unjust

Not based on or behaving according to what is morally right and fair

forgive

Stop feeling angry or resentful toward (someone) for an offense, flaw, or mistake

no one said this was going to be easy

Advice from the Fashionista

Fucking Fabulous Although, I think I've sweated off 10 pounds this afternoon.

Fucking Fabulous
Although, I think I’ve sweated off 10 pounds this afternoon.

IF you are going to wear neoprene pants,

And who wouldn’t want to wear neoprene pants?

Especially flowered ones,

Either do so on a day where the temperature won’t rise above 40 degrees,

or,

Make sure you have free access to a swimming pool.

 

Scary man who wasn’t scary at all

I went to the desert – alone – like I always do.

I have never feared being stalked, raped, or murdered out there, mostly because I am either in my car getting somewhere or once I’ve gotten somewhere, it’s so remote that my chances of running into another person are super slim.

And I figure rapists won’t 4wd for two hours just to get my scrawny ass.

But last weekend, I pulled off the main road into a tiny turn-out so that I could take one last look at my map to ensure that my next right turn wouldn’t take me over a cliff and into the abyss.

Then a Jeep with one lone man pulled in behind me and blocked my way.

I felt a panic that I haven’t felt since I walked down the streets of San Francisco at bar time.

Why, oh why, in this giant expanse of nothingness, did a man have to pull in this close to my vehicle, except to trap and strangle me?

He stepped out of his Wrangler and made his way towards me.

I rolled down my window just a teeny tiny bit and yelled as forcefully as I could while my voice was quivering, “I’m backing out right now!”

His response…

“Wait wait, I’m from Canada.”

Oh. Well okay then.