I Still Can't Believe It

So after a 5 year hiatus, something spurred me to post here on February 8th.  It was a short post and didn't really say much.  It was kind of like dipping my toe into a pond I hadn't visited in a long time.  Who knew that in three short days, my life would forever change.  It kind of makes me regret that I let this blog languish for so long without updating as I would have liked to have some record of the previous five years before The News that would usher in the next chapter of my life - a chapter I had mostly given up being able to ever write. Backstory: I hadn't been feeling well at the beginning of 2016.  Just felt off a bit.  I went to Orlando to work a conference and when I got backed, I was rocked by something flu-like.  I'm not sure I've ever had the flu but from the symptoms, I supposed that's what it was.  Of course I didn't go to the doctor or anything, pshaw.  I just suffered through it.  I had a fever for a few days and...

You get a wild hair to see if your old blog is still around and find it is, albeit severely neglected and woefully out of date.   You now get paid to write blog posts for companies and the experience gained from your little ol' personal blog is the reason you are comfortable even saying you can do that? The mean ol' black dog is still around as inspiration? She's much grayer and arguably more distinguished looking, but put a strange dog in her yard and she'll act like she's spry and angry that you dare be a dog in HER yard. You remember how much you enjoyed writing "Don't You Love it When" posts? Yes, I know it's a pittance of a post, but what's that saying about beggars and choosers?  Yeah, you'll get over it.  Especially since I give no guarantees that this won't be the last post for another five years.  No promises!  I like to keep my options open.  

I found this post in a drafts folder. So, I wrote it in 2008...sue me. Not sure why I didn't post it when I wrote it (and why didn't I capitalize anything?), but here you go: In the first three months of 2008, I've been to six different countries, flying out of a city that doesn't offer direct international flights (save Mexico), so I think I can safely give my perspective on the pros and cons of traveling with the masses in the cattle car world of coach air travel. Pros: - sunrise and sunset at 30,000 feet, especially when there's a low cloud ceiling. - a clear day when flying over mountains or the north pole. i've never been to the Alps, but I've seen them from 35,000 feet and they're spectacular. same goes for Greenland and the glaciers. - there's an odd solitude to flying that I find peaceful. surrounded by strangers, you can live inside your head quite peacefully for a few hours. - in-seat entertainment (when you can get it) is really pretty...

...you get gifted the last batch of homegrown tomatoes? More specifically, Illinois award-winning tomatoes? I'll be making guacamole, salsa and hopefully a batch of tomato sauce I can share with my grandparents. Thanks Paul & Sally! ...you score a goal from just shy of midfield? I even managed a short bit of what's known as dribbling - a concept I just can't perform very well. But I keep trying and when it goes right, it's oh so gratifying. ...the Corn Dog lays her super soft head on your lap? Or when you just look her way and she wags her tail? She loves me, in spite of all of my shortcomings as a dog owner. We're a package deal: Two Chubby Beasts For One Low Price! ...you think the water heater has gone tits up only to find a simple push of the little red reset button fixes all? That lukewarm shower was nerve-wracking - how long since the last heating of the water? how much longer before it's straight up cold? how much will a new water heater cos...

But I forgot to wear deodorant. It's small victories I have to applaud anymore. Things like "I remembered to brush my teeth" are celebrated with solo high fives. It's kinda awkward, but it's something you get used to. There's this thing that Corn Dog does, well more specifically DOESN'T do, that really makes me insane. I'm pretty sure every other dog in existence knows that when you say "Wanna go outside?", you go to the door and the human let's you out. But not CD. Noooooo. That would be too easy. Cassady went to the door in a flash if he needed to go out, but somehow Corn Dog never picked it up. She'll sit there and look at me and put her paws up and whine and when I ask...she goes to her bed. I'm pretty sure she's about to puddle, but she just lays down. Meanwhile, my avoidance maneuvers are still firmly in place as well. I've successfully avoided a number of crucial things that I've really needed to...

Tonight, we play for first place. That's correct - the team that went easily nine months without a single win, is playing for first place for the second session in a row. It's shocking, I know, but I'm trying not to think about it too much - don't want to psych myself out. Playing soccer reminds me of my youth and my age simultaneously. As a kid that felt like an outsider from really any of the established social groups (limited as they were in parochial school), soccer was the first time I felt like I fit in with something. I'll never forget being in fourth grade when they finally added a girls' soccer team. I signed up immediately even though I'd never been exposed to much soccer. Who knew there were practices that entailed running up and down steep hills and running around in circles as much as kicking the ball around? We weren't very good then either. Maybe there is a connection....? Nah. But losing wasn't the worst experience to have at...

Apparently, I just can't be "light" and witty anymore. It would probably behoove me to try and rediscover that whole part, but everything seems heavy. I am tired of doing nothing and yet, I still don't want to do anything. Boil it all down and I'm straight up scared. I ask myself "What's the worst that could happen?" and usually can't come up with anything good enough to legitimately hold myself back from whatever I'm afraid of at that moment. And still I manage to talk myself out of (or into, depending on the situation) taking action. I'd never thought I'd say this, but I need to make some action items for myself and fucking get something done already. At this time last year, life seemed so promising. This year I'm stuck in a vortex of suck and self-loathing. I miss my dog. I miss intimacy and affection. I miss my paycheck. I miss the excitement of trying new things. I want all of those things back in my life, so why c...

It was once suggested to me that when one makes a significant change in their life, it can cause a domino effect and other massive and unintended or unforeseen changes are the result. In last week's visit to my therapist, I went on record with my disdain for the theory and the way my life in the past two years has proven it out. I started seeing this therapist, who I fondly refer to as The Poodle (short for Therapoodle), a few years ago now and the impetus was a pervasive feeling of unhappiness. I didn't want to come home from work but I didn't want to be at work either. When I got home, all of the things I'd wanted to do when I got there would go undone because I just couldn't find the motivation. I was anxious about traveling for work, anxious about wanting to have kids or not, anxious about my future with Surfer Boy. Anxiety and malaise characterized my life and I had that dreaded feeling that my life was slipping away while I sat and watched. In the course ...

Last week, I had to do the unthinkable. I had to play God. In the aftermath, I'm left with only the hope that I gave Cassady a decent home, a decent amount of love and a decent passing to the Great Big Piney in the sky. Friends assure me that I did, but when it's just me and my thoughts...I have regrets and I wish I could go back and do things differently. When I start to struggle with those regrets, I'll be able to look back on this entry for posterity. Like I told the vet after the deed was done, Cassady taught me a lot. Not because he didn't have any issues either - it was because of his issues (and mine) that I was able to grow and learn so much about life and love. Here's to the good and the bad of a 14-year relationship with a dog. A great, great dog. Random things I don't want to forget about Cassady: I got Cassady from the Animal Protective Agency on Christmas Eve 1994. I'd gone there every day on my Christmas break from school looking for j...

Quick math lesson: PMS + Nicotine Withdrawal = Hot Mess I think I'll leave it at that.

I still struggle with what to write here. 2008 verily sucked. Sure there were some moments I'll recall with fondness, but I'm going to have to go with Strongly Disagree if the question is "Would you classify 2008 as a good year?". From one nasty habit to another. I'm trying to quit smoking and I'm not using any medical or OTC aids...yet. But I've taken to sleeping on the couch - the busted out, drooping in the middle monstrosity and it's not doing much for my back health or my emotional well-being. I bought a pretty fancy mattress in September but for some reason, it's just not doing it for me. Part of the reason definitely has to do with how cold my bedroom is but sadly, that's only half the story. The other half is certainly the part where sleeping in it alone is deflating. And Corn Dog just isn't the bastion of warmth and affection I need her to be. I wonder if Cesar Milan could help me train her to be a better co-sleeper. Mayb...

If it wasn't for A Christmas Story, I'm not sure I could make it through this time of year. I mean, yeah of course I'm all jolly and smiley during the holidays, who isn't? Oh, wait...that's right, I sometimes have to force it. But when ACS is on the telly, no force is necessary. So so many good lines. A smattering of some of my favorites: I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed. (this happens to me all of the time) Aunt Clara had for years labored under the delusion that I was not only perpetually 4 years old, but also a girl. (there's always one relative like this, isn't there?) He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. (Profanity! Not just for the holidays) Meatloaf, smeatloaf, double-beatloaf. I hate meatloaf. (Amen) Oh I hate the smell of tapioca. (Can I get anoth...

...you hear a song that you're madly in love with but you don't know what it is and then you realize your phone can identify it for you? The app store is dangerously amazing. Shazam! (superfluous emphasis mine) is the app for which I have much affection. ...you find a recipe for the delicious pancake soup you had in Vienna and try to recreate it? I only barely scanned the online recipe and thus was unawares that the leftover pancakes I used were quite different than called for until they swelled when added to the broth and I ended up with glorified brothy pancake mush. I went back for seconds. ...that trip to Scotland you've tried to plan at least three previous times is finally booked and soon to be a reality? Fuck yeah-eah-eah! Oh em gee I'm beyond excited. ...the family gets together no less than three times in the span of four days? Including D-Minus home from school? Eating, bowling, drinking, game-playing, watching Dad play to the crowd at Rumple's, a...

That was the call that rang out from upstairs. I emerged from the basement to find a wiggly stream of pee ranging from the pine room, through the entire kitchen and around the corner to the hallway, with a nice finish on the hall runner. Guess I have no one but myself to blame for not letting Bean out when I got home from the bowling alley, but cleaning that up half drunk really sucked. But I'm thankful Bean's still around to piss on the floor for the full length of the house. Just one of the many things for which I'm grateful. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, but I do try to be grateful every day. An alarm titled "Gratitude" goes off at the same time every day on my phone to remind me in case I've forgotten. So, thank you Cassady, for pissing all over the house to remind me. Next time, could you just leave a note?

We're more than halfway through November in the Year of Our Lord 2008. It's been one helluva year in the Land o' Corn Dogs. It's no secret that I've been going through a lot of peaks and valleys in my personal life and this year will definitely not fade from the memory banks any time soon. It's good practice for not passing judgment and just looking at it like a passive observer, when you have times like this past year. At least that's what I tell myself on a regular basis. It's a coping mechanism, I think. So it's been hard to put anything - time, thought, personal stuff, humor, pictures - on this page for quite some time. But I think I might be into it again. Let me check. Oh yeah, I'm doing it right now. I've got all kinds of ideas for the next "Don't You Love it When..." post. I really want to get that exercise back into my routine. Such good therapy for self-pity spirals.

For my birthday, I got just about everything a girl like me could hope for and then some. To wit: Cardinals tickets in home-run-catching territory. No such luck, but the company was divine (JoySoy Habanero and Super Sue), the day was glorious, and the home team was victorious. Massive amounts of alcohol consumed with friends and a free ride back to a complimentary downtown hotel room (that damn JoySoy went overboard and thanks to Anna y Jorge for the ride). The day off work. A family gathering that consisted of dinner with grandparents (so fucking cute, those two), then outdoor viewing of Three Stooges shorts on the back of a garage, sitting under a tree, drinking beer, and THEN, then having a whipped cream pie fight. The absolute OWNAGE of my brother by my freakishly tall brother, was too beautiful for words. Gift cards to Target and DSW. Fuck yeah-eah-eah! The gift of flowers. Beautiful scarlet and yellow fragrant lilies. Goah-jus! And that's really just the highlights. Th...

I'm not a real big fan of my birthday mostly because I'm a big baby and don't want to get old. But also because it bugs me that somehow it's up to the person whose birthday it is to decide what to do to celebrate it. My position is that friends or family should take on the coordinating duties so as to relieve the celebratee of the burden of making a decision. Doesn't everyone hate making decisions as much as I do? Most years, someone will call and ask what I'm doing for my birthday and I would scramble to come up with something that sounded fun although, inevitably, I'd be in a sorry frame of mind to make such plans due to my "woe is me, I'm old" moaning. This year is different, I'm happy to report. Not only is JoySoy Habanero taking me, my Mom and Super Sue to a Cardinals game AND making sure I don't have to drive in an inebriated state Sunday night, but I also have a fantastic idea of what my family should do for me: have a pie ...

The title of this post means "These are my words" in Mohawk. On September 11, 2001, I was in Amsterdam. A lot of you know some or all of this story, but bear with me. Because of the time difference, it was late afternoon when I heard what was going on in NYC. I was on the way back to my hotel from the Van Gogh museum when a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was American. Upon my confirmation, she told me someone blew up the White House. That's all she knew. When I got back to the hotel, I went to the room I was sharing with my boss. The TV was on CNN and there was a note on my bed telling me to call my Mom and which room the boss was in and I should join her. I called my Mom, assured her I was OK, and then went to join the boss in the other hotel room. Besides my boss, there were four colleagues, two of whom were Mohawks and we all sat there, dumbfounded, speechless, and utterly incapable of hiding any emotion. That day, the five of us in that room knew th...

If I could take photos of my bruises that accurately reflected the depth of color and relational size, I'd probably start a bruise blog wherein I could diarize the comings and goings of my colorful skin. This week's soccer game left me with a couple on my arm and a lovely, huge, and frightfully painful one on my shin. It's so bad, I might have to sit out next week as the thought of anything even brushing up against it makes my eyes water. And sitting out fries my eggs...I pay to play so if I'm in town and physically able to be there, I'm there. What's more, I'm pretty sure my psyche is just as easily bruised. Maybe if I could, say, eat a lot of pineapple and that would cure my subcutaneous bruising, I could find some remedy for the bruising I take regularly to my soul? Something like rubbing shedded dog hair on my eyebrows would be good, lord knows I've got plenty of dog hair at my disposal. Don't get me wrong, most of the soul bruising is sel...

I have an admission to make, of which I'm woefully ashamed. Every time the movie Ghost Ship comes on TV, I watch it. If you haven't seen it, don't be surprised because it's not a very good movie. I guess the attraction is seeing the cast killed off in various spectacularly gruesome ways. And the ending is, well, the ending is bad like Mad Dog 20/20 when you're 15 - you don't want to drink it, but it's the only thing around and you've invested too much to turn back now. Recently, I had this conversation with someone, I believe my SIL, and she said the movie she always watched was Deep Blue Sea . In retrospect, maybe she wasn't exactly ashamed about watching it, but I felt those same dirty, i'll-never-get-these-two-hours-back feelings as from Ghost Ship. What fantastic fake sharks you have! I guess the truth about why I didn't appreciate DBS was because Karl Urban is in Ghost Ship and I find him dreamy but also like watching him die w...