Murphy's Law, My Life

I hate running errands, plain and simple. If there's anything I can do online that simplifies errand running, then I am the master of the keyboard. But, for those occasions when I actually have to get dressed and exit my sanctuary, I stall as long as humanly possible, before locking up the puppy and setting foot outside. Like Gizmo I shriek "Bright light! Bright light!" as I struggle to get my sunglasses in place. I think in a past life I was an agoraphobic hermit with photosensitivity and a vampire complex. Or possibly a gremlin. 

This past Friday, my errand du jour was getting the Tundra's emissions tested, and getting the new tag. Pretty simple, right? Maybe 2 miles up the road, done and done, back home again. Easy peasy. Excuse me while I snicker at your naivete! For most people, this would be a forgettable outing, done quickly and efficiently with nary a thought. For me? Oh hell no! It turned into a nearly three hour ordeal. Oh, I know what you're thinking--emissions place was run over, tag office crammed full of number yanking people crammed together like sweaty sardines in a can whose eyes flick from their number, to the next served neon sign to the clock on the wall, ending with an impatient sigh. Would you believe I never made it that far?

Murphy's Law has taken up residence in my life, refusing to back down or allow one thing to go without a hitch, even something as ordinary and mundane as emissions testing and tag getting. Okay, here's how my Friday went, and bear in mind I stalled until nearly 3:30, and was only going to do emissions that day. After running through the routine--locking up puppy, grabbing keys, iPod in check--I head out the door, promising Crash and Maggie I will be home shortly. I get in the truck, start 'er up, and realize I've forgotten my cell phone. Ever since I dropped it and shattered the back--thank God not the screen--I keep it in a wallet case that is too big to fit in the purse pocket where my phone typically goes, hence the forgetting it. But seriously, what genius decided to make the back of a cell phone glass? Who actually thought that was an advancement in technology? And why don't they tell you this when you get the phone? Samsung, you've lost points in my book over this ridiculousness! I prefer my phones to be durable plastic or metal or hell, even rubber, something that won't shatter so easily when one is whacking the hand that is holding the phone to stop a mosquito from sucking one's blood...yes, I know. Murphy's Law. Don't judge me!

Anyway, I shut off the truck, head on up to get my phone and realize...I have no house key. 

That line has to stand alone for proper emphasis. I have no phone, and no house key. I check the sliding door on the deck, but no, this is one time I lock the damn door, of course, because that's Murphy's Law. At this point I don't know what to do. I'm a socially awkward introvert who knows I have neighbors, or at least I think I do...maybe I do, I mean I probably do, right? but I don't know them, so I can't knock on the door and speak to them, not to mention asking if I can use their phone! So I get in the truck and drive, thinking I'll still do emissions, then worry about what to do after that. A couple of cars in line, I decide to head on to my oldest son's apartment. He'll be home, I mean, what are the chances that the one time I head down there without calling/texting first he won't be home? Murphy's Law/my life, of course!

I don't see his car, nor do I see my daughter-in-law's car, so I know I'm SOL, but hey, I drove all that way, I'll give it a knock. The neighborhood watch dude is on his deck watching me, because he knows one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong, and I'm the thing in this scene. I head back to the truck with full intention of waiting a bit to see if the prodigal son returns, but I didn't want to give neighborhood watch dude cause for concern so I quickly exit. As I drive, the music is on, but my mind is busy with nervous chatter--what are you going to do? how will you get in your house? you can't even call 911 because you don't have a phone--and I seriously missed pay phones for the first time in quite a few years. We might not have had personal phone devices back in the day, but if you had pocket change aka candy money (real money for candy, not candy money you eat JSYK) then you knew if you walked a little you'd find a phone booth, and all would be well.

I'm driving up 41, outwardly calm, inwardly panicking, wondering where to stop to see if I can use a phone. I decide on Walmart, which is where the emissions testing is and right across from the tag office, because if that fails the fire station is next to the tag office, and they would have to help me. I mean, with a story like that to entertain them, why wouldn't they? 

I head to customer service, expecting them to shoot it down. The bored young man advised me I could use the phone in jury. What? I questioned. He repeated and pointed, but I'm still not getting it. Finally I see it and say "Oh, jewelry!" and head on over. Of course, Murphy's Law being so firmly attached to my life, the phone is right there, but no one is at the counter. I go back to customer service and ask if he could page someone to the counter, as I don't want to just use their phone, and I don't know what to dial out to use it. He sighs like I am just getting in the way of his fun with the other customer service guys, and sighs "Yes". I see a well known manager and ask him, he says dial 9 and then the number, so now I'm just praying the man I married answers the phone without recognizing the number. By then a jury lady had come over, but I pointed to the phone and she dutifully left, probably relieved she didn't have to actually help the 50 year old red cheeked sweating idiot at her station.

"Hello Chris?" I say.

"May I ask who is calling?" he says, more suspicious than polite.

"It's your wife, Joyce."

"Why is the number different?" (thinking I wrecked the truck)

"I'm calling from Walmart. I forgot my cell phone and I don't have a house key. You need to call one of the boys and have them come to the house and let me in!"

"What's going on?" he asks.

"I just told you!"

"You broke up, I didn't hear anything after Joyce."

"I'm calling from Walmart. I forgot my cell phone and I don't have a house key. You need to call one of the boys and have them come to the house and let me in!"

(His house key is in the key dish at the house. I had removed it from his key ring so his nurse could use it to let herself in on Thursdays when it's IV treatment day, since I have to work...again, Murphy's Law fully entrenched in my life. D'oh!)

"Okay, I will call them."

"I'm going to come home and sit in the driveway and wait, I guess." Which I did. Patiently. Because what other choice did I have? 

My youngest arrived to save the day, and everything was okay in the end. The dogs were hungry, the man I married was hungry, and I guess I was too, but we survived this latest lapse in memory. I will say though that I learned a valuable lesson--when Murphy's Law is a way of life, never be too distracted that you forget your cell phone and/or your key, because that happens to be the absolute worst case scenario for a socially awkward agoraphobic introvert hermit with photosensitivity and a vampire complex. Or a gremlin. Either way, I should have just stayed home!

Life is Like

...a roller coaster
...a balloon
...a bowl of cherries
...a bicycle
...a road
...a cash register
...a party
...a camera
...a book
...a movie
...a grindstone

...toilet paper--either you're on a roll, or you're taking shit from some asshole

So many life is like comparisons, from philosophic to funny, all meaningful in their own way. Perhaps one of the most iconic life is like saying was quoted by a literary idiot savant named Forrest Gump, as told to him by his humble yet venerable mama, and it goes a lil somethin' like this: "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get." Hell, you could make one up using just about anything, as long as your analogy makes sense.

Life is like a chameleon, always changing to suit where you are and what you're doing.

Life is like a unicorn, mythical, magical, an epic adventure.

Life is like eye drops, the more you use them, the clearer things are.

Well, not my best work, but for early morning on my day off skimming the top of my head and using what I'm seeing on my computer table, not too shabby (just FYI, I don't have a chameleon on my computer table. That one just sprung up on its own. Because I like chameleons. JSYK (just so you know)).

One time when my oldest son was very young, he seemed to have an answer for everything. So I said to him jokingly, "Well, since you know everything, what's the meaning of life?" A question we all have asked at some point, an answer that is probably different for everyone.  After a very brief pause, he answered, "It's everything that you do." That has stuck with me over all these years, because out of the mouths of babes comes the truth. It IS everything that we do--if you do good, your life is good, if you do bad, your life is bad. Very philosophical. Life is like so many things, it means so many things, and to some, it means very little.

So while I could spend the day reading life is like analogies and spend even longer applying them to my life, which, right now, is like a slow moving trolley through the less scenic parts of hell, I have my own life is like that I live by--in fact, I can apply this reasoning to just about everything--from loading a dishwasher, to packing a suitcase, to organizing a cabinet, to figuring out how to handle all the crap that's going wrong right now. The life is like analogy that I swear by is simply this:

Life is like a game of Tetris--you have to work hard to make all the pieces fit together without allowing them to build up, so you can win the game and get high score instead of game over, man. (quit rolling your eyes, that's rude!)

Seriously, though, think about it. Life is balance, it's  cohesion, it's a grand puzzle where all the pieces fit together or it just doesn't work. You wanna see puppies in a basket, a barn in the countryside, hell, you wanna see where's Waldo? You have to work at it! You have to fit all the pieces together or you'll never see the picture...and it can be a beautiful picture, man. But like anything else, it takes concentration, dedication, devotion, patience, and skill. It also takes a sense of humor, strong will, and love. Because life is like love, it can bring you to new heights or send you crashing to the ground. They both take balance. This coming from a 50 year old who nearly falls over when she's walking, right? Balance takes skill. Anyone who thinks they can skate through life is...well, filthy rich. But most of us don't skate through life without having to change the wheels every now and again. 

Tetris. My all-time favorite puzzle game. My favorite life is like analogy. Whenever I am confronted with difficulty, when things just don't work,  when they just won't click, I think of Tetris--and I keep on shifting things around until they fit together. Thank you, Alexey Leonidovich Pajitnov. Without your contribution to the 80's gaming world, I would not have my life is like. I shudder to think where I would be. Because honestly, and I'm keepin' it real here, people, if MY life was like a box of chocolates it would be empty...and I'd be fat. JSYK.

Conversations Amongst Ourselves

I'm melting!

what?

I'm melting! Like parts of me are flowing off never to be seen again.

like literally? (looks around the floor)

(Scoffs.) No not literally! Figuratively, symbolically, metaphorically, metaphysically, spiritually, mentally.

oh.

Oh?  OH?!? Epic response. 

sorry. i just don't get the drama. it's rather draining. 

Well excuse me if my crisis doesn't register on your own personal richter scale of emotions.

huh?

Or would that be emotional richter scale? I'm not sure.

imma earthquake in this scenario?

There's nothing earth shattering about you. In fact, I think they would bring you to the morgue in the hospital because you're practically flatlining.

wait...what? now i'm deceased? was i killed in an earthquake of emotional drama caused by the fault line in your heart? heh heh, not bad! (punches self in arm)

Go ahead, make fun of me. You won't think it's so funny when I'm gone.

when you've completely melted away, you mean? (snickers)

I walked right into that one, didn't I?

(nods) yeah, you really did...or maybe i did, if you're the one who's melting and all.

Just stop already! 

Alone with the Dogs

I'm sitting here drinking coffee answering some messages, and I suddenly realize that I am alone. Well, as alone as one can be with four dogs in the background, playing and barking and hitting my chair as they chase each other around the couch. I don't get much alone time anymore, and that's been really tough. I need that time to regain my peace, my inner strength, my calm in the chaos that is life. And when I don't get it, I find myself bursting into tears over the most insignificant things--a random commercial, the end credit song of a movie, the news, a red light. I need my alone time to cry things out, so I can recoup and feel refreshed and strong enough to keep fighting through all the daily things that I think I can't fight against. So I'm here, now, alone with the dogs, without my ears in, and I feel calm. 

May is a hard month for me, but this one had added pressures. Having lost my job the end of April, that had me bummed, yet relieved at the same time. I wasn't bummed about not working there anymore, because let's face it, that place was a sinking ship and I was lucky to get a seat on the life boat. The panic was not having money coming in. May also signifies the anniversary of my beloved Mom's passing, and that marks the whole month with a black armband. Mother's Day is a day of mourning, since we actually lost her on Mother's Day 2011. Also, I lost my beloved Mother-in-Law in May as well. Two very strong, very compassionate, very family oriented women gone in the same month, different years. How do you just bounce back from that? You feel the dread creeping in when April showers are still giving birth to May flowers, and it sticks with you for 31 days, lingering slightly the first week of June until you finally start to come out of it. You have to. You gotta keep moving, if not for yourself, then for everyone who depends on you to be strong, smiling, giving, caring. You have to do it for them, even if you just feel like you're going through the motions. Eventually it sticks and you feel the sluggish motor turning over, the cogs and belts moving and pulling you through the days until you're running again, like a new motor built from reconditioned parts. Almost fresh, almost new. Almost.

May also signified the end of my beautiful daughter's three year journey through grad school. A celebration in the middle of black armband month. Swap that black for a rainbow for at least a day. Shake off the dark clouds and mourning for sunshine and cheers. I wanted to cry over everything, from the speakers I didn't even know, to the family who accepted their deceased child's diploma, to someone who was having trouble finding a seat. (That's the lack of alone time coming into play. I guess I could cry with people around, I am mostly human after all. But then you have concerned family asking what's wrong, then they want to hug you, and all of that caring makes you want to cry more, it becomes an endless cycle and you just don't want to go there. It's like being stupid enough to think you can watch the movie The Family Stone without bursting into sobs, especially now, especially in May, especially after what happened in May.) But I was proud to see my beautiful daughter get her MFA, after three years of hard work in Chicago. We had a nice visit with her there, and I decided I rather like Chicago. The walking, the trains, the taxi cabs, Uber, Montrose Beach, the people, the laid back hustle and bustle that is almost constant. I will ignore the two separate shootings that occurred in the very neighborhood we were in at the time; in fact, we saw the cops while we were walking back from getting ice cream. But I guess nowadays that can happen anywhere, at any time, for any reason. She's going to stay in Chicago for possibly a year, a choice I support because it's hard to go back home after being on your own for so long, and with no license or car the public transport is perfect for her. I look forward to visiting her again, perhaps during a different month next time. It was a nice distraction from all that was wrong in Georgia. I read, I walked, I became a Netflix binge-watcher. I got to see my girl...and yes, I missed the hell out of my dogs. 

Cut to June 1, my 30th wedding anniversary, when I had a working interview at an office. When you're not working, the days tend to bleed together and when I told them I could do a working interview from 8-1 on Monday I didn't even realize it was my anniversary. I was offered the job before 1 pm. I still left at 1 to celebrate with the man I married. This office should understand, because they are big on family. So June came, the black armband came off, and the sun shone. Yes, it's stressful starting at a new office. It's hard when you're a dental assistant, because every time you go to a new office, you have to adjust to not only new instruments and products, but new ways to do things and new philosophies as well. You have to really let go of "At my old office we..." and just know, Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore. Once you get past that, it's the same repetition, different office. And you can't beat three days a week--in a dental office that is fanfuckingtastic! Most are a minimum of four days, but some stretch to six days a week, and I'm even seeing quite a few going to 10-12 hr days. So three eight hour days a week, and the rest of the time is mine. Pinch me, I think I'm dreaming...

I am, however, not complete. I am not content. I am still restless, still feeling like I'm living someone else's life, like I'm not where I need to be. I'm not. This isn't where my life is supposed to be. I'm supposed to work with animals. Dogs, cats even, and I even dream of working on a farm sanctuary with goats, and cows and sheep and chickens and roosters and horses and any other animal that needs refuge. The world is an ugly place to animals, and I know I'm supposed to do my part to make it better for them. Confucius say "Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life." Well I WANT that! That is my destiny. Maybe I'll write about it, too, even better. But I want to be surrounded by the peace and love of animals. And I won't feel like I belong in this world until I am. Even now, as I sit here alone, I am surrounded by four dogs who love me and are happy to have me in their lives, as happy as I am to have them in mine. It's what I live for. Don't get me wrong--I love my husband and my sons and my daughter, and my dad and brothers and sister and everyone else I miss terribly in Ohio and Virginia. They are my world, my support, my pride and joy. But animals are my calling. And because they love me, my humans understand that and support it. 

Family is important to me as well. But some of my family members wear fur. And I'll never truly be alone.

 “You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don’t make money your goal. Instead pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off of you.”

Maya Angelou

Just 4 Fun

Top 25 Most Played Song on my iPod (this will show my eclectic taste in music)

25. Hot Rod Lincoln--Commander Cody & His Lost Planet Airmen 49 plays

24. Fuck You--Cee Lo Green 49 plays

23. Bad Things--Jace Everett 50 plays (the best thing about True Blood was the                   music!)

22. Moondance--Van Morrison 52 plays (an all-time fave of mine)

21. Walk Away--Tom Waits 52 plays (I can really identify with this one, plus I love his          voice!)

20. Zoot Suit Riot--Cherry Poppin' Daddies 52 plays (this one makes me want to take           up swing dancing!)                        

19. Kryptonite--3 Doors Down 53 plays (love their music, lyrics, voice, very relatable)

18. Out of my Head--Fastball 53 plays

17. The Little Things--Danny Elfman 53 plays (Got this from the Wanted soundtrack)

16. Great Balls of Fire--Jerry Lee Lewis 54 plays (love me some oldies!)

15. Mother--Danzig 56 plays (didn't really listen to this in the 80's--of course when it        came out I had a toddler in the house. actually discovered it watching Matt play            Guitar Hero!)                                

14. I Don't Wanna Be--Gavin DeGraw 57 plays (the One Tree Hill theme song! One of           my workout go to songs!)

13. I Don't Wanna Know--Dr. John 57 plays (another True Blood favorite)

12. Surfin' USA--The Beach Boys 57 plays (another oldie, the epitome of past                     summers!)

11. Athena--The Who 59 plays (another all-time fave of mine, this is what it's like to           be in love)

(here we go now, entering the 10 ten most played songs on my iPod! are you excited yet???  I am, and I already know what they are!)

10. I Will Love Again--Lara Fabian 59 plays (just listen to her voice, catchy tune)

 9. I'm Ready (Live at Merlotte's)--CC Adcock and the Lafayette Marquis 59 plays (a            True Blood bonus track, really enjoy this one)

 8. Friend Like Me--Robin Williams 60 plays (Aladdin Soundtrack. Will always                      remember Robin Williams this way. Fun, full of life, leaving a legacy of laughter)                

 7. What I'm Lookin' For--Brendan Benson 63 plays (got this one from a commercial)     

6. Jump in Line--Harry Belafonte 66 plays (most people remember this from                     Beetlejuice.)

5. Big Bang Theory Theme--Barenaked Ladies 67 plays (love the show, love the song!)                                                                                         

4. Make Me Wanna Die--The Pretty Reckless 69 plays (Kick-Ass Soundtrack. Great             song!)

3. A Little Less Conversation (JXL Radio Edit Remix)--Elvis Presley 80 plays (Very first       concert I ever went to was Elvis! Had a huge crush on him, watched all his movies,        cried when he died. Another oldie!)

2. Everything Falls Apart--Dog's Eye View 82 plays (another all-time favorite, because       it's life. It falls apart, we put it back together and it falls apart again. Gives us               something to do)                       

And now, the moment no one has been waiting for! The most played song on my iPod is...

1. It's Not My Time--3 Doors Down 82 plays (More great lyrics, great song!!)

Not sure how they decide which 82 play song is first, but this is how it shows up on my iPod. If you've never listened to some of these, you should give them a try! Keep an open mind, you mind find a new song to sing in the shower. You can share what songs are #1 on your iPod or phone or whatever you use, if you want to. I'm always open to new music! Hope you enjoyed my list.

Why I Hate Surprises

Because I'm a control freak.  Because I hate being put on the spot.  Because it will take me a day to think of a good comeback.  Because sometimes the only thing you can do is curl up into the fetal position and wait for the surprise to disappear.  Because I hate change.  Because once it happens, it is over, and where do you go from there?

Now when people think of surprises, they think of good ones.  A diamond ring dangled on a proposal, a birthday party, an unexpected windfall, a vacation, a raise, a new car, a present of some kind.  All of these are good things, great things even, but still things I don't want to be surprised about.  On the rare occasion when someone has said to me "I've got a surprise for you", my stomach knotted and I prepared for the worst.  I have always hated surprises. 

To me, the only good surprise is being scared shitless.  Does that even count as a surprise?  I don't know but that adrenaline rush from someone jumping out at you in a haunted house is excellent!  That I can take.  There's nothing in this world that can match being scared to death. 

I don't know why I've always hated surprises.  I don't know if there was something that happened in my childhood that since has rested dormant in the repressed recesses of my mind, lying in wait for a good hypnosis to jerk it back to the forefront of my reality.  Maybe a creepy clown jumped out at one of the birthday parties I attended as an incredibly introverted child and scared the dread of surprises into me.  Or maybe someone said that to me with a very different idea of what constitutes a good surprise, and it left a sourness in my throat. Or still maybe it's because I hate being the center of attention, all eyes on me, because that's what a surprise does.  It marches you to the front of the classroom where those privy to the secret watch with baited breath for your reaction...which is what? Disbelief? Happiness? Disappointment? Feigned joy? Chants of "Speech, speech!" ring out for you to comment on this horrid encounter you've just been tossed into against your will. Well, I really can't recall, I just know I hate them.

I quite enjoy quiet surprises--when I found out the gender of my babies, either through birth or the doctor, waking up to three inches of snow and a quiet world, getting an email from someone I thought had forgotten about me and finding out they missed me, too. Are those surprises or unexpected events?  Are they one in the same? I may never know, but since I enjoy them by myself in peace and privacy, they are good.  

I will never be a fan of surprises.  They mostly fall short of what I really want, and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, or pretend that I love what I don't.  And what do I want?  For someone to understand this about me and accept it. That would be a good surprise. 

Dirty Paws

It is another cold, rainy day in Georgia. My backyard is pine straw and mud, which means when the dogs go out and actually venture off the deck, they usually are waiting by the door with muddy paws. That's 16 hairy feet I have to wipe before they can enter. They are usually fairly good about waiting their turn, they know the order, and although they hate when I do it they know it has to be done.  Because sometimes life is messy.  Sometimes its soggy.  Sometimes it's dirty paws.

With a puppy in the house (Crash, my grand-puppy, almost a year old but it will be hard to think of him as anything but a puppy no matter how big he gets) sometimes the order turns to chaos. Sometimes he refuses to leave the deck until he absolutely cannot hold his bladder or his bowels another second. Sometimes one of them poos on the deck itself.  We make our guesses but just like with kids no one's talking and everyone looks kind of guilty except Jack who just looks oblivious so you can either yell at all of them or none of them.  I choose the latter. Poo on the deck is the least of my worries.  Coming home to poo in the living room, and dining room, and hallway...well, that's another story to be dealt with on another day. Sometimes in his mad dash for his best bud Maggie (who sometimes doesn't go down but watches over the rest with a powerful stance, sniffing the air, sometimes pacing, ever-protective of her best bud Crash) Crash will fly right past the other dogs and me, leaving small muddy prints from the sliding door until landing in the recliner, his refuge when his Grandma starts yelling. There he sits with an innocent look on his little adorable black face, as if saying "It wasn't me. I was in the chair. See?" He hates when I yell, he hates to get in trouble, and fortunately for him he's so damned cute no one can stay mad at him for long.  Not even when he lunged at my face and hit my nose with his teeth, leaving a bruising mark and tenderness for a couple of weeks. He was playing of course, with his usual puppy exuberance, and I certainly can't fault him for that. But still, I'm left with his paw print trail, and if there's one thing I can tire of quickly it's cleaning up after dogs. I know, I know, I bring that on myself, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

But that's what happens. Things get marked, they get dirty, dingy, fogged, and we have two choices--leave it and live in the muck and mire, or grab a rag, some cleaner, and get down there and wipe it up. Sometimes it takes quite a bit of muscle, scrub a dub dub, and sometimes it doesn't completely come out. I no longer remember the original shade of my carpet, but it never ceases to amaze me that almost every new house comes with light colored carpet. Really? That seems like a good idea NEVER. One answer would be imitation hardwood, but with that comes other issues, like furball tumbleweeds, toenail scratches, dogs slipping and sliding...well, it's always something. That's life, after all.  If it's not one thing it's another. If you've cleaned it up, chances are it's gonna get dirty again, and so begins still another repeatable cycle in your own little circle of life, and as much as I tire of cleaning paws I am thankful that I'm still able to do it. I can get down on the floor and get back up again, with relative ease and range of motion.  I can chase that puppy and get him chasing me.  I can still do what needs to be done to keep that cycle going, one of many in my circle of life. I'm grateful.  I'm 48 with all of my original equipment, and I can emphatically state beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing else I've owned still works after 48 years. My Presto Air Popper came close, at 20+ years...my marriage is going on 30, also quite the feat, but sadly no cigar. I would love to squeeze another 48 years out of my circle, but I plan to make the most out of whatever I have left. Life is for the living. Breath is for the breathing. Dirty paws and all. 

A Bitch...with Manners

I recently saw Iron Man 3 in the theater, the 4:45 pm show. That was probably my first mistake.  I didn't take into account that children would be present and unaccounted for.  I never turned to see exactly who occupied the seat behind me, or the seats surrounding this future juvenile delinquent who will surely blame everyone else for whatever wrongdoings this miscreant is responsible for.  I didn't have to.  The constant kicking of my chair, pushing me forward and back, the sudden hard kick that causes me to jump...I didn't blame the small one in the seat directly behind me.  No, I blame the parents, or the adults in this kid's life.  They are doing this child a disservice that could cost this child his/her freedom someday, setting in motion this child's ability to blame everyone else, every external factor in this child's life, for what this child has done.  See, this kid didn't know any better, because the parents never stopped this child from kicking my seat.  So that made me wonder what other kind of bad behavior they are letting this kid get away with, out of guilt, or laziness or stupidity.  And that led me to think that we as a nation do not bother to teach our children basic manners anymore, and what a shame that is, and how badly that reflects on us as a nation, as well as individually. All that thinking I was doing instead of watching the movie is probably why I thought the movie was merely okay, instead of most excellent.  That really pisses me off, because I am all about Super Heroes, and Robert Downey Jr is totally hot.  Bad parents!  Go stand in the corner and think about what you didn't do!

I've always tried to be a nice person.  I hold open doors for men and women of all ages, I say please and thank you when applicable, I sympathize and empathize, I pray for others and think about them, I watch out for animals and children, and I still get upset over whatever roadkill I pass, or whatever habitat is being destroyed to make way for the latest failed strip mall.  I'm bound and determined to change my lifetime of evil ways and reconcile myself with all living beings by turning Vegan...or at least pescetarian until I can finally take that leap.  I find myself moving into a more spiritual place, where the violence of today weighs heavily on my soul.  I need to be in sync with all living beings, because we all have a right to live here without being tortured, neglected or murdered.  I try to have manners.

So why then am I, one of the quietest people currently existing on this wondrous planet Earth (unless you hit upon one of the points for which I am passionate about, and then I will unleash a fury upon you the likes of which no one has ever seen before, a tsunami of emotions that will pull you under and drown you before you can utter Oh shit!) labeled a bitch?  I wear my scarlet B proudly, a badge of honor, because what other choice do I have, really?  Denounce it? People think what they think no matter what I say or do, and once that idea, that bitch idea is in someone's head, well, there's no expelling it, no exorcising it, and frankly, that's their demon anyway.  I go home, take care of my dogs, feed my family that never leaves, go to sleep and get up to start all over again the very next day and so on and so on...well you get it.  

But, the question is, why do I have that label?  How did I earn it?  Am I a big meanie?  Do I kick puppies?  Weed eat my neighbor's prized petunias?  Spit in the boss's coffee?  Yell at my waiter (sorry, server, different era I suppose) or bring my cashier to tears?  Nope.  Why I am labeled a bitch is merely because I hold people accountable.  "What?"  you gasp.  "You bitch!  How dare you hold anyone accountable!  You probably expect them to be dependable and responsible too, and spell good.  Have you no shame?!?!?"   Yes, I expect them to spell well, and to punctuate, to write slowly, neatly and concisely, to be grammatically correct and to not be scatterbrained idiots...things might be gettin' a little bit clearer.  I also expect them to pay attention, focus, follow orders, learn from what those with more experience teach, do the job for which they were hired and to do it with professionalism.  And when they do something wrong, take responsibility for it, own it, learn from it and move beyond it.  I used to say a monkey could do my job, but then I realized I'm insulting intelligent monkeys everywhere.  The new crop of assistants, for whatever reason (lack of proper schooling, youth, ADD, laziness, uncaring attitude, or plain ol' stupidity) cannot do the job a monkey could do.  I mean, Koko the signing gorilla could assist circles around these kids.  I can't tolerate the blame game (it's not my fault, i didn't do it, it wasn't me, or the annoying blank stare...i work with a lot of nobodys, because Nobody ever does it.)  I can't tolerate horrible spelling (buy a dictionary, or shit, use your smart phone--which, btw, really makes you look dumb--to look up the word, or go to dictionary.com but know how to spell/punctuate).  I can't tolerate unfocused, unprofessional, unaccountable, irresponsible, undependable people with superior attitudes they don't deserve and certainly didn't earn. Repetition, concentration, anticipation and communication, sprinkled with a healthy dose of common sense (I've come to the conclusion that you can't teach common sense, and so many of these kids today lack it) and a dollop of humility, mixed together with a solid work ethic, strong moral values and compassion, and maybe, just maybe, you can do my job.  So, if expecting all that from a co-worker, if calling them out when they continue to make the same mistake over and over, if telling them the proper way to do something warrants an "okay" in a drawn out dry tone that indicates it is anything but okay, if expecting them to be on time, do their job and hold them accountable for such makes me a bitch, then I will gladly accept that title.  

But it gives me pause and causes me to wonder...why aren't there more bitches like me in the world?  This world could use 'em.  

I thank you for your time.  Have a good day.

"Whether you call it Buddhism or another religion, self-discipline, that's important.  Self-discipline with awareness of consequences."--Dalai Lama  

Where Do I Go from Here?

I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I look around, but it doesn't seem familiar.
This isn't what I had in mind.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
Who are you?  Why do you look surprised to see me?
Where did I put my keys?
I don't know how to get away when I can't run.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains.

I forgot the part where I decide I deserve more.
Sometimes I don't want to be me.
Sometimes I'm scared I'm not me.
The guilt and sadness overrule the fun and happiness.
I have too many things I don't need,
but not enough of what I want.
And what I want is contentment.  peace.  joy.  laughter.
My heart is heavy and it hurts.
I'm lost, wandering around inside a place I don't want to be.
And it's about to close.
And the exits aren't marked.
And if I stay I will be stuck.  in the middle.

I am lonely when I'm not alone,
but when I'm alone I am not.
I am a dandelion seed waiting for a breeze.
I am one minute grain of sand in an hourglass
turned upside down, rushing to the other side
only to be turned upside down to do it all again.

I'll push you away because it's easier.
It's lonely at the top.  Is that why I stay at the bottom?
I can't see from here.
Life is laughing at my expense.  
It's not supposed to be fair.
It's not supposed to easy.
And who said it was supposed to be fun?
This isn't what I hoped it'd be.  

There's still hope for the flowers, trina.
It's in the heart and soul of those left behind.
They'll find it.  They have to.  It's all they have.

Dark Clouds Choking out the Rainbows

I feel lately like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, toes curled over the rocky ledge, an eager wind pushing at my back, daring me to dive into the murky depths of the frigid, rocky water below.  I don't want to, but sometimes I feel as if the choice was taken from me, by the windy fingers, by the depression that has holds me captive, by the land that decided to stop in front of me and lead only to one place--down.  I can't shake it, no matter how hard I try, no matter how fast I run in the opposite direction it all leads back to that cliff.  No, I'm not talking suicide.  I would never do that.  I'm talking about drowning in a depression that gets deeper every day, stealing the joy in my life and leaving it as a puddle of tears.  I don't want to depend on pills for my happiness.  That wouldn't be me, that would be me on mood altering drugs (and not the fun kind of my teenage years, either) and that's not someone I want to be.  I just want someone to teach me how to deal with this, with death and loss and sadness.  I want someone to show me how to pick up the pieces, glue them back together so they have some semblance of meaning that allows me to not feel as if I'm just waiting for my death.  I need a life that has purpose, I need a reason to keep going, I need to do something worthwhile, something that changes the world, even if it is just my small portion of it.  I feel restless, like I've wasted so much of this wonderful life God gave me, and I need to make the most out of the time I have left.  But what to do, how to do it, where to go, how to get started...so I do nothing.  I go nowhere.  I waste more time.  

It's hard to accept that I will never know the love my parents shared for over 60 years.  The respect, the loyalty, the teamwork, two people who wanted the same thing and built a life accordingly.  We didn't have a lot of money growing up, but we had everything we needed.  I will never know great love.  That is heartbreaking, but it's my fault.  I sold myself short.  I accepted less than what I should have.  But thinking about their love, their marriage, has me really questioning my own life, and how I want to live the rest of it.  

Until I find a way to shake this dark cloud and find my way back to the rainbows, I will stand on the edge of this cliff and avoid looking down.  I will look up--to God, to heaven, to my Mom, and try to find that reason, that purpose, that sparks the fire of passion in my soul, giving me something to fight for.  I don't want to sit around waiting for death.  That's no way to live.  And I'm not ready to die.  

" There's no sight of the morning coming
There's no sign of the day
You've been left on your own
Like a Rainbow
Like a Rainbow in the Dark Yeah . . .
Your a Rainbow in the Dark."

Dio

Emotions in Motion

"That old alarm clock gives a yell
Starting another day in hell
Passing a world I can't face with you gone"--Nick Lowe/Cold Grey Light of Dawn

At this moment in time, I am very emotionally fragile.  Everything threatens to make me cry.  Yes, it is very close to that time of the month, which does nothing to ease the situation, and besides, women hate when you blame it all on that.  I can be at work, doing fine, doing my thing, and faintly hear the song "Home" by Michael Buble drift to my ears, and I literally have to blink back the tears.  Some days it's harder than others.  I love the song "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor but for some reason it always makes me cry now.  I used to be safe, now I'm on shaky ground and if I can't make order out of chaos then I am no better than a lost soul wandering around in the woods.  

My children miss their Grandmas, and their Grandpa, but they don't know what it's like to lose a parent.  They are where I was months ago.  You believe that your parents will be around forever.  And then forever ends.  Just like that.  There is a hole in you that never fills.  Life shows signs of tarnish, the corners fray and unravel, the color and the beauty dulls, and it stays that way no matter how long and hard you polish, no matter how many patches you sew or knots you tie in the loose ends.  

I skipped a writing on my birthday.  I turned 45 but is that really some great feat?  My Mom turned 45, and she still ended up dead.  So will I.  So does any of it really matter?  I skipped a writing on Thanksgiving, even though I am thankful for so much.  And now, we plow into Christmas again, and the depression mounts, and I am trying to shake it but it ain't easy.  The blows keep coming and coming and I hate having to be strong, pretend nothing bothers me.  My sister battles cancer, my Dad turned 84, and every time the phone rings and it's a 513 area code I am immediately seized with panic.  You know it could come at any time, but no matter how much you try to prepare you are never ready.

I just wanna go home.

I can't let the thought of dying ruin the rest of my life.  I have to do something that means something so I don't waste the gift of life bestowed on me.  My beautiful daughter will be home from Germany in a little over a week, and she is my best friend and lifeline.  Every time she is here things are just better.  My boys are here and they help me laugh and give me someone to love.  My dogs are a constant source of joy, and the man I married is a constant source of entertainment.  The Bengals finally have a better team.  I am reading again, and enjoying it, and hopefully that will lead to writing.  I have to find my way, in the shadows of grief, to make it count, make it worthwhile, make it mean something before it's my time to go.  

So maybe a good cry is in order.  Get it out of my system so I can smile again, laugh again, lighten up again.  That's what my Mom would want, because that's how she lived her life.  No regrets.  From here on out, no regrets. 

When Everything's Different

I had hoped that this year would be different from the last one, the last two, hell, the last three or four.  So many tweaks I would have made to improve the past few years, just little things to make them a little more pleasant, a little more bearable.  We have been surrounded by the shadow of death, you feel his cold steel breath on the back of your neck, and you just want to shake it off.  So I had wanted this year to be different.  Be careful what you wish for.

One minute my Mom is here, the next we are saying goodbye.  How do you do that?  How do you say goodbye to the one person who loved you no matter what, the one person who always believed in you, always had hope for you?  I don't expect anyone to know what I am going thru, not even the ones who have already been thru it, because you see, it's a unique experience.  It is different for everyone, from siblings, to spouses, to strangers, we all experience it in our own way, with our own techniques, our own method to preserve our sanity and ensure our survival.  None of us are wrong, none are right.  It just is.  We are who we are, and we do what we do.

People tell me I am handling my beloved Mom's passing better than they expected.  That's how it would appear.  I go thru my day, see patients, smile, laugh, joke, I simply carry on.  But if there's one lesson everyone should learn in their lives it is never judge a book by its cover.  Appearances can be deceiving.  I have always said my strength can be my weakness.  I have to be the strong one, in Ohio for my Dad, here for everyone else, myself included, because falling apart just isn't an option.  You have to maintain, have to get thru the day at all costs, even when you feel like crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over your head.  If I had to give my opinion, I'd say I'm taking it pretty hard.  

I internalize my problems.  I pull away from people,  become distracted, distant, more quiet (yes, it's actually possible for me to do that).  It's like a war has been waged inside me and it's all I can do to keep going.  No one will ever understand what it is like to be me.  How hard it is, how tiring.  I don't wish to be someone else.  I am a product of two people who shared an epic love, who built a life together from that love, who then spread that love to their family.  You can't find that today.  They don't make 'em like that anymore, hell, they don't even WRITE them like that anymore.  Because it would be seen as boring, uneventful, plain.  God, it was a great life!  To be raised in a house with so much love, such emphasis on family...it was the best.  The memories are painful reminders of how fleeting life is, how we truly don't savor what we have until it gone.  It weighs so heavily on my heart sometimes I have to block it out, pretend it isn't what it is, sleepwalk thru my life, keep myself numb so I can't feel the pain.  I don't listen to what people are saying, I don't hear their jokes or stories, because if I let myself then I will feel, and if I can feel then I can hurt, and if I hurt then the floodgates will open and all bets are off.  So I fight the tears, I fight the feelings, I fight everything around me so I can stay in this little bubble world I created around me, one that will allow me to function without feeling.  I have to concentrate so much on me that I can't deal with other people and their own selfishnesses.  I see people complaining, and I tell myself that's not worth complaining about.  I see people in a hurry and I tell myself what's the rush?  I see people angry and I tell myself they are wasting so much energy being mean when they could just let it go.  Priorities shift, and I don't have patience for those who waste their precious time on things that don't matter.  Why be miserable when you can simply allow yourself to be happy.  You don't know how much time you have left here, do you really want to go out with a frown?  It's especially hard when people close to me are like that, because I don't want to be that way, and I don't want to be dragged down with them that way.  God willing and Mayans be damned, I could have another 44 years or more left on this earth and by God I want them to be great.  I don't want to miss a thing.  I want to take my time and enjoy the ride, because the destination ain't all it's cracked up to be.  Are we there yet?  God, I hope not!  

So although I appear to be handling things well, inside a war is raging.  The depression is almost unbearable, like someone put a ton of bricks on my chest and I'm expected to carry them around with me.  I have no energy, no desire, I have a cold I can't shake.  So although I am not walking around in tears, I am in pain.  Sometimes it hurts so bad and it's hard to pretend like it doesn't.  So I swallow it, I ignore it, I beat it down.  But it's still there.  And even those who have been there before me don't understand, because for them it was totally different.  When everything's different, nothing can be the same.  You just have to find hope, that things will be okay eventually.  That the pain will lessen enough for you to get back into your life.  That you can remember without feeling like someone is ripping out your heart.  That life goes on, and you need to be in it.  Otherwise, you're as good as dead, and what kind of life is that?

I miss you, Mom.  I always will.  Until we meet again.  You are in my heart, my soul, my everyday.  I will always love you.

(author's note:  Today would have been my parent's 63rd wedding anniversary.)         

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time.  At no other point in my life can I remember really needing to be thankful for things.  I hit a slump, reached an all-time low, sank so far down a break in the clouds was not visible.  In trying to do a good thing, I set off a catastrophic chain of events that I'm not sure I can forgive myself for.  Well, that's being a bit dramatic.  I could kick myself, if I still maintained enough flexibility of youth, but since I perpetuate my own antics, forgiveness is a given.  Plus I'm a Catholic--we're always looking to forgive someone.

It all started with Facebook, which I am beginning to believe is evil incarnate.  Yeah, I know, too much drama.  Well, I have a flair, don't you think?  I saw this dog, this puppy, with the saddest sweetest face, who was going to be PTS if someone didn't step up and rescue her. (the kind way of saying murdered--put to sleep.  Killed, put to death, extinguished...an animal lover had to have thought of "put to sleep".  Where's Buddy, Mom?  Well, he's sleeping, dear.  Good Mom, not crushing her kid with the weight of truth and death, right?  But she left off a crucial word--FOREVER.  Hand him a copy of Rainbow Bridge next time, Mom, or better yet, read it to him.  He'll learn more, and appreciate life and love more that way.  And "euthanasia" just candy coats murder.  And isn't "humanely euthanize" an oxymoron?  I can understand ending an animal's suffering, but humanely euthanizing is not a good phrase for it, if you ask me.)  Okay, off on a tangent, like you didn't see THAT coming!

Her name was Maggie, she was "under a year" and was said to be shy.  In all actuality, her name was Maggie, she is farther under a year than it seemed, and she must have reserved her shyness for the rescue.  Anyway, although I never thought he'd agree to it, the man I married allowed the rescue to take place.  We drove to Chesterfield, SC, and picked up an emaciated, flea-infested happy puppy.  Thankfully the vets at Banfield/Petsmart agreed to see us with no appointment since Maggie couldn't have a bath for another week due to recently being spayed.  She got a great pill called Comfortis which eradicated the fleas in a half hour, and after a night of confinement in our garage, finally made her way upstairs to meet the pack.  I should have had some clear sense of foreboding when the transition went without a hitch.  I've seen enough horror movies to know that just when you think everything is fine, you turn around and get your head chopped off.  In my defense, it's been eight years since I've had a puppy, and Dakota, Thor, and Jack require very little supervision.  

To make a long story a little shorter, Maggie has been a member of the family for almost three weeks now, and has ruined a sweater, numerous socks, a pair of underwear, chewed my slippers (they're fuzzy and must look like a toy), shredded six toys in one sitting, and, the piece de resistance, managed to pull a $1700 BTE hearing aid out of my ear and chew it to ruin.  Worst weekend of my life so far.  I had barely had them a month.  I cried two days straight, barely ate anything, and was completely open to abandoning all hope.  With Dakota just being diagnosed with Atypical Cushings and her vet bills skyrocketing, I cannot afford another ear.  Feeling hung out to dry, chewed up and spit out, and utterly alone, I did what any strong person would do--I crumbled into a blubbering mass of despair and hopelessness.  Maggie annoys the living sin out of Thor, chews anything she can get ahold of, pees and poops at will in the house--even by the sliding door--and doesn't seem to be too shy.  In fact, she's rather hyper.  I decided right then I didn't like her, and any recovery from that seemed impossible.

She must've known.  She was sweet, dainty, lovable, and did so good letting me know she had to go out.  I couldn't help but decide I loved her.  I picked her for a reason, things happen for a reason, so I just had to learn my lesson from this and keep plodding along.  What else could I do?  Returning her could be a death sentence, because anyone with less inner strength than me would not keep her. So long haul, here I come!

Things have a way of working out.  You just have to be patient.  Have faith.  Learn from your experiences, take that knowledge and grow.  See the silver lining in that gray cloud.  Know that God never gives you more than He knows you can handle (although I can honestly say I can totally relate to Job and how he must've felt.  It's very defeating.  You feel forsaken.  Makes you wonder if God's been placing bets with Satan again, only instead of Job it's your faith on the line.)  My hearing aid should be covered with a $200 deductible.  If it's not I'll just find a way to get another one.  You deal because really, what's the alternative?  Curl up in the fetal position and die?  Although I considered it--briefly--it's not an option.  

So I am thankful on this day, for so many things.  My family, my friends, my animals, myself, life, love, laughter and happiness, I'm as thankful for the bad times as I am the good, because you can't have one without the other, and besides, you merely enjoy the good times, but you learn from the bad times.  I've learned more about myself and the person I am in the last three weeks than I have in a long time.  So even though my car is in desperate need of a tune up, I had to battle Aflac to cancel my poor excuse of supplemental insurance, I have to buy a new hearing aid and oh, did I mention I had to get a new keyboard for my computer as well, even though I seem to have more debt than money, it really is only money, after all.  It's not what really matters.  I can do without a lot, but if I can no longer laugh, love and have fun, then I've truly lost it all.  

I am not perfect, but I'm here.  I am alive, my 44 year old body is still running (the only thing I've owned for that long that still works!) I have a job, a home, a car, coffee in the morning, and even though Dakota's medicine is expensive, she's still alive.  I have so much good in my life, I just need to open my eyes and see it.  Thank You God, for all the blessings You have bestowed on me.  Because even in a cloud of bad, there's still good shining from within, and as long as you can see that, you've got reason to be thankful.  

Don't Sweat the Dog Stuff, Because it's All Dog Stuff

I am a dog lover.  The scratch on my chin made by an exuberant Husky at the mere mention of the "w" word (the "w" word is walk, and even though we spell it out, I swear their ears perk up like they have learned what those four letters mean) is a testament to that.  Most of the time my body resembles that of someone who battled a thorny bush and lost horribly.  Although there are only three dogs remaining, they are my canine children and I love them dearly.

If you are a neat freak or a germaphobe, you would not last ten minutes in my house.  You would immediately notice the pine straw deposited on the carpet from shaggy tails, the tumbleweeds of dog hair, or that distinct smell of soggy doggy that no air freshener can defeat.  There are various pee spots from the males marking territory or overactive bladders.  Not to mention the dog hair that inevitably ends up a special seasoning in whatever meal I actually get around to cooking.  It's a given.  Dog hair is either cooked into the dish or will end up there via your clothes.  When I go to sleep at night with my three dogs right there with me, I put a thin layer of Vaseline on my face to help keep it soft, so I always wake up with a face like the wolfman from shedded fur that sticks to me as I sleep.  I live in fear that one day I will go to the doctor with a stomach ache, and he'll tell me I have a fur ball.  Of course it would make the news, and eventually post on YouTube, and I will be forever immortalized as the woman with the ten pound hairball.  You can't just cough that up!

There are times when I think back of the brief period when my beloved Sheltie died and I wasn't ready to get another dog, or when our beloved mutt Sega escaped and got killed by a car.  I tried to distance  myself from animals so I wouldn't have to see them die, sparing myself of that pain.  But what I didn't realize was I was robbing myself of the joy they bring during their short lives.  

I wasn't ready for a dog when the man I married decided he had to have a yellow Lab.  I didn't want a dog yet.  We walked with the breeder past these outdoor kennels, with these happy friendly Labs running along the fence.  My heart began to thaw.  By the time we got to the litter we were to choose from, my heart was melting fast.  When we saw the small yellow body sleeping in his food dish, I looked up at my husband as a female yellow lab puppy came over to me and said, "Can we get two?"  It was decided that day, my destiny.  I believe we don't choose our fate; rather, it chooses us.  Mine was sealed that day.

One dog led to two, because come on, it wasn't fair to Austin to have to chew on things to keep himself occupied, he needed a friend.  That friend turned into Dakota, who in turn had a litter of seven puppies, which of course led to three dogs in da house, which led to another litter and another dog.  I knew then although I would have kept every puppy if I could have that I had reached my limit.  Four dogs are a lot of work, especially when you're doing the majority of the care yourself.  I didn't complain (much), because I was the reason for this development.  So accidents, dog hair, dog smell, well, you get used to it after awhile.  Having a pristine house never really mattered to me.  Having furniture no one could sit on because I didn't want it soiled or ruined wasn't gonna happen.  So my life became a house of falling apart furniture filled with the love of good dogs.  It doesn't matter to them, though.  They love me and they don't really care what the house looks like.

When Austin passed from cancer, I was fine with the three amigos, Dakota, Titus, and Jack.  Until a friend of the man I married was giving away a Husky, another dog the man I married always wanted.  I was less than enthused.  I had adjusted to life with three, and was quite content.  My traitorous human children betrayed me by saying we should take him.  I saw more work and expense for me--not to mention trying to add a strange dog to this tight-knit pack.  I couldn't see it working.  But...the crazy dog lady gave in.  It was rough at first.  Dakota did not like him at all.  But when I saw him, that heart of mine was a puddle on the floor, and I thought well, there are worse things that four dogs (like dog hair, pee spots, pine straw, dog smell, dog breath, fleas) but I accepted my fate.  

Now we have just the three--Dakota, Jack, and Thor, after losing Titus to cancer--but I still stopped and took a quick gander at the woman holding a "Puppies" sign in the parking lot at WalMart.  Lucky for the man I married they were Chihuahuas for a price and not Golden Retrievers or Labs for free!

Even the man I married finds time to complain, about the hair, dogs on the bed, bones laying around to be stepped on, and dogs always walking in front of the cable box when he's trying to change the channel.  We've had dogs chew MP3 players, pencils, toys, lip gloss, cords, books, and just about anything else you can imagine.  I used to sweat the dog stuff, but not now.  It doesn't change anything, and it causes me to lose valuable time that could be spent playing with my three wonderful canine children.  I've realized my yard will never have grass, my bushes will always need pruning, and my front porch with the railings falling down might never get fixed.  I might never have nice furniture, or a bigger house, or new linoleum in the kitchen.  But that's okay.  I've got a great family, both human and dog, filled with love, laughter, and memories.  Let everybody else keep up with the Joneses, and compare material possessions.  I'll take three dogs waiting to shower me with kisses every time I walk in the house.  Where else would I ever find such unconditional love and adoration?  No diamond ring or dozen red roses could ever give me that.

So I won't sweat the dog stuff, because it's all dog stuff.  And it's all good.

(on a side note-- I highly recommend reading the book "Dogs Don't Bite When a Growl Will Do" by Matt Weinstein and Luke Barber.  I've learned a lot about living my life the way my dogs live theirs--with excited happy abandon!)